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WlLLOUGHBY'S    WISDOM 


A   STORY 


NEW    ENGLAND   COUNTRY    LIFE 
IN   BY-GONE   DAYS 


BY 

N.    W.    GILBERT 


BOSTON 

CHAS.     H.     HUFF,     PUBLISHER 

131  DEVONSHIRE  STREET 

1890 


Copyright,    1890 
BY    N.  W.   GILBERT 

All  rights  reserved 


PREFACE. 


LET  no  reader  imagine  that  a  new  literary  character 
has  come  upon  the  stage.  The  writing  of  a  simple, 
short  story,  in  prose  or  song  —  even  though  it  should  be 
conceded  to  have  been  written  in  respectable  verse  — 
by  no  means  makes  a  man  of  letters.  And  this  is 
strictly  an  amateur  performance.  One,  it  is  true,  into 
which  I  have  put  considerable  effort,  it  having  occupied 
a  large  part  of  the  little  leisure  I  have  had  for  a  number 
of  years.  And  it  has  helped  to  while  away  many  an 
otherwise  sad  and  lonely  hour.  If  it  shall  do  as  much 
for  my  readers,  even  in  the  aggregate,  it  will  not  have 
been  written  in  vain. 

My  motives  have  been,  to  produce  a  readable  story, 
that  somebody  might  get  interested  in,  and  also  to  put 
on  record  some  phases  of  social  and  religious  life  in 
rural  New  England  a  half  century  ago,  which  have 
since  disappeared,  or  are  now  rapidly  passing  away. 

My  language  is  commonplace  and  familiar.  I  have 
made  free  use  of  the  pronouns  I  and  you,  both  as  a 
matter  of  convenience  and  a  matter  of  choice ;  as  it 
seems  to  bring  writer  and  reader  somewhat  nearer 
together,  and  so  into  closer  sympathy  with  each  other, 
provided  the  writing  be  such  as  shall  tend  to  attract 
rather  than  to  repel.  And  to  whoever  approaches  the 

iii 

M204201 


IV  PREFACE. 

door  of  my  little  literary  air  castle,  I  say  most  cordially, 
Come  in  and  sit  down.  Make  yourself  quite  at  home. 
We  shall  be  all  by  ourselves,  and  we  can  talk  about  our 
neighbors  as  freely  as  we  like.  I  will  speak  well  of 
some  of  them ;  and  even  that  is  not  always  done.  I 
may  reveal  some  of  their  secrets,  but  they  came  to  me 
without  the  customary  promise  not  to  tell.  And  that 
the  narrations  herein  contained  may  prove  sufficiently 
interesting  and  instructive  to  compensate  all  readers  for 
their  time  and  money,  and  that  we  may  separate  on 
more  friendly  terms  than  the  commercial  ones  which 
have  brought  us  together,  is  the  earnest  wish  of 

THE  AUTHOR. 


WILLOUGHBY'S    WISDOM. 


CANTO    FIRST. 

I. 

'TWAS  many  years  ago,  in  early  spring, 
And  on  a  pleasant  Sunday  ;  I  should  say 

About  the  last  of  April,  as  I  bring 
Old  recollections  up,  or  first  of  May: 

The  buds  were  out,  the  birds  were  on  the  wing, 
Although  the  earth  was  still  in  sombre  gray, 

Dismantled  of  its  white  and  snowy  sheen, 

And  waiting  for  its  robe  of  summer  green. 

ii. 

I  say  the  earth,  I  mean  that  part  of  it, 
Wherein  occurred,  by  fortune  or  by  fate, 

The  commonplace  events  which,  seeming  fit 
For  warp  or  woof  of  what  I  would  relate, 

I  weave  into  my  song  ;  with  how  much  wit, 
Or  sense,  I  cannot  say ;  and  so  must  wait, 

Until  the  public  verdict,  being  had, 

Proclaims  it  good,  indifferent  or  bad. 

in. 

Midway  between  two  little  country  towns, 
Along  the  base  of  that  Green  Mountain  range, 

Above  whose  lofty  peaks  old  Mansfield  frowns, 
And  looks  upon  a  scene  of  constant  change, 


2  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

On  lake  and  river,  hill  and  meadow  downs, 

On  many  a  peaceful  home  and  quiet  grange, 
Where  sways  the  graceful  elm  and  towers  the  pine, 
'And  where  the  bleating  sheep  and  lowing  kine 

IV. 

Roam  o'er  the  verdant  slopes  to  satiate 
An  appetite  that's  keen  for  native  food, 

Then  lie  beneath  the  trees  and  ruminate, 
In  seeming  happy  and  contented  mood, 

Or  patiently  stand  waiting  by  the  gate, 

Or  graze  again  some  fresh  and  tempting  rood  — 

Here  long  ago  some  incidents  occurred, 

Of  which  the  world  at  large  has  never  heard. 

v. 

Between  these  towns,  and  on  the  old  highway, 

Which,  night  and  morning,  witnessed  the  approach 

Of  that  famed  monarch  of  a  former  day, 
The  heavy  laden,  rapid  running  coach, 

O'er  which  the  driver  held  despotic  sway  — 
And  on  his  rights  'twere  dangerous  to  encroach, 

For  horse  or  man,  at  least  for  boys  who  tried 

To  hang  upon  the  rack  and  run  or  ride. 

VI.} 

That  old  stage-coach,  by  nimble  horses  drawn, 
With  its  attendant  clatter,  dust  and  din, 

Has  served  its  purpose  and,  alas  !  is  gone; 
And  now  the  iron  horse  comes  neighing  in : 

Some  passengers  get  off,  some  more  get  on, 
The  uniformed  conductor  may  have  been 

The  gallant  driver,  in  the  days  of  yore, 

Of  the  pretentious  stage-coach,  now  no  more. 


VII. 

Well,  on  this  old  stage  road  there  used  to  stand, 
Between  the  villages,  as  I  have  said, 

Upon  an  elevated  piece  of  land, 

A  farmer's  dwelling-house,  with  L  and  shed ; 

And  from  the  intervale  on  either  hand, 
A  private  carriage-way  obliquely  led 

Thereto  ;  commencing  fifty  yards  or  so, 

From  where  the  house  looked  on  the  road  below. 

VIII. 

Two  barns  were  also  standing  on  the  same 
Convenient  rise,  which  nature  had  designed, 

Apparently  with  philanthropic  aim, 

Of  thus  conferring  favors  on  mankind ; . 

At  least  upon  the  one  who  should  reclaim, 
From  native  solitude,  the  place  we  find 

These  buildings  on,  this  higher  spot  of  ground, 

Which  overlooked  the  intervale  around. 

IX. 

The  intervale  was  smooth,  at  least  not  rough, 
The  elevation  mentioned  was  not  high, 

Not  quite  what,  in  the  west,  they'd  call  a  bluff, 
Or  in  the  east  a  hill,  against  the  sky. 

Its  altitude  was  moderate,  just  enough 
To  be  convenient,  pleasant,  sandy,  dry ; 

And  in  Vermont  at  least,  a  house  will  stand 

The  test  of  wisdom,  built  upon  the  sand. 


Or  sand  and  gravel,  with  a  little  loam, 

Which  this  contained,  a  good  convenient  soil 

Whereon  to  found  a  hearthstone  and  a  home, 
In  which  to  rest  from  weariness  of  toil ; 


WISDOM. 

Where  children  may  return  who  haply  roam, 

To  seek  repose  where  filial  love  may  coil 
Around  the  parent  hearts,  which  ever  burn 
With  stronger  love  than  children  e'er  return. 

XI. 

The  house  and  L  stood  fronting  to  the  east, 
A  little  south  of  which,  the  barns,  in  form 

Of  half  a  square,  gave  shelter  to  the  beast, 

That  sought  protection  from  the  wintry  storm  ; 

Kept  out  the  wind  —  to  some  extent  at  least  — 
Let  in  the  genial  sunshine,  bright  and  warm, 

Which  cows  and  sheep  may  love,  as  well  as  men, 

Whene'er  released  from  stable  and  from  pen. 

XII. 

I  said  'twas  on  a  pleasant  Sunday  in 
The  long  ago,  that  certain  things  befell, 

Which  I  must  chronicle,  and  so  begin 
The  story  which  I  had  designed  to  tell. 

'Tis  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  speak  of  sin, 

In  close  connection  with  the  old  church  bell, 

Which  had  successively  been  rung  and  tolled, 

To  call  the  worshippers  into  the  fold. 

XIII. 

And  yet  the  truth  requires  that  I  should  say  — 
At  least  if  I  should  say  it,  'twould  be  true  — 

That  here,  in  one  of  these  two  barns,  that  day, 
We  might  have  seen  four  daring  youngsters,  who 

Were  sitting  in  a  circle  on  the  hay, 

And  by  the  modest  light  the  cracks  let  through, 

Between  the  boards,  contracted  at  each  edge, 

Were  playing  at  the  game  we  call  old  sledge. 


XIV. 

They  were  but  novices  at  such  a  game, 
They  hadn't  played  extensively  before, 

A  fact  which  I  may  hardly  need  to  name, 
The  oldest  but  thirteen,  or  little  more  ; 

'Twas  not  to  be  expected  they  could  claim 
A  large  amount  of  this  peculiar  lore, 

Whereby  to  judge  correctly  of  the  use 

To  which  'twere  best  to  put  the  ace  or  deuce. 

xv. 

George  Hayden  was  a  lad  just  past  thirteen, 
Whose  father  lived  some  half  a  mile  away, 

Directly  to  the  southward  from  the  scene 
Which  I  have  just  described  upon  the  hay ; 

Have  just  commenced  describing  it,  I  mean  —r- 
His  nose  was  Roman  and  his  eyes  were  gray, 

His  form  symmetrical,  though  rather  slight, 

He  wasn't  scholarly,  but  keen  and  bright. 

XVI. 

His  brother  Willoughby  was  only  ten  ; 

His  birthday  coming  a  few  weeks  before 
The  time  of  which  I  write ;  and  even  then, 

He  showed  some  leanings  to  scholastic  lore, 
And  frequently  would  listen  to  the  men, 

As  often  they  debated,  o'er  and  o'er, 
The  long  contested  claims,  respectively, 
Of  Federalism  and  Democracy. 

XVII. 

And  Nathan  Alden  was  between  the  two, 
In  point  of  age,  as  reckoned  by  the  date 

Of  birth  —  a  stout  and  chubby  fellow  who, 
Although  in  intellect  perhaps  not  great, 


WILLOTJGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

In  muscular  estate  was  well-to-do ; 

The  other  boys  agreed,  at  any  rate, 
That  he  was  hard  to  match  in  feats  of  strength, 
At  rough-and-tumble,  side-hold  or  arms-length. 

XVIII. 

And  he  was  fond  of  exercising  this, 
His  chief  accomplishment,  on  any  one, 

Among  his  fellows,  who  should  go  amiss 
In  moral  conduct,  or  in  having  done 

Some  fancied  wrong ;  and  none  attained  the  bliss 
Of  being  able  constantly  to  shun 

Some  trilling  breach  of  his  imperious  and 

Unwritten  law,  as  shifting  as  the  sand. 

XIX. 

In  fact,  the  law  was  made  to  suit  the  case, 
Directly  after  it  had  been  transgressed  ; 

And  executed  in  as  brief  a  space 

As  guilt  were  proven  in,  or  even  guessed ; 

A  quite  convenient  method,  in  the  face 
Of  all  the  facts,  to  settle  what  were  best, 

As  fancy  might  suggest,  or  passion  bid, 

As  many  do  —  as  then  young  Nathan  did. 

xx. 

They  called  him  Nate,  to  make  a  shorter  name, 
And  I  shall  deem  it  not  at  all  unfair, 

And  not  disparaging  to  his  good  fame, 

If  I  should  chance  to  use  it  here  and  there ; 

Or  Nate  or  Nathan  it  were  all  the  same, 

Like  Ralph  or  Ralpho  —  Hudibras's  Squire  — 

Which  Butler  said  he  should  be  free  to  call  him, 

Recording  faithfully  what  might  befall  him. 


WISDOM. 


XXI. 


Tim  Turner  once,  a  sprightly  little  soul, 
.   Was  on  his  way  to  school,  and  unattended 
By  George  and  Will,  on  whom,  as  cheek  by  jowl, 

Especially  with  Will,  he  much  depended 
For  his  protection  to  and  from  the  goal 

He  now  was  striving  for ;  but  unbefriended, 
On  this  occasion,  he  went  past  the  house 
Where  Deacon  Alden  lived,  and  his  good  spouse. 

XXII. 

He  wasn't  running,  but  he  briskly  walked, 
And  hoped  he  might  get  by  unseen  by  Nate, 

Whose  notions  of  humility  were  shocked, 
By  his  straightforward  look  and  rapid  gait, 

As  he  observed  him,  and  he  swiftly  stalked, 
Or  rushed  upon  him  at  a  furious  rate, 

And  seized  him  by  the  coat,  and  "  jest  to  show  " 

That  he  was  "  master,"  threw  him  in  the  snow. 

XXIII. 

But  after  that  the  two  walked  arm-in-arm, 

Until  at  length  they  reached  the  district  school ; 

And  Tim,  subdued,  received  no  farther  harm, 
Except  by  being  called  a  "  little  fool," 

Which  lent  another  luster  to  the  charm 
Of  education,  and  the  wholesome  rule 

Of  old-time  pedagogues,  whose  valiant  deeds 

Supplied  our  discipline  and  mental  needs. 

XXIV. 

O  lust  of  power  !  which  undermines  apace, 
The  righteousness  of  almost  any  ruler ; 

And  powerfully  checks  the  "  growth  in  grace," 
Of  him  who  governs  army,  church  or  school  or 


WILLOUGTIBY  S    WISDOM. 

Dominion,  save  in  Prince  Siddartha's  case, 

(As  chronicled  by  Arnold  and  Max  Miiller,) 
And  other  few,  but  Buddha  lacked  the  merit 
Of  righteous  rule  he  did  not  yet  inherit. 

xxv. 

O  district  school!  and  each  imperious  master, 

That  lorded  over  it  in  days  of  yore  ! 
How  oft  I  wished  the  seasons  would  go  faster, 

In  early  youth,  and  even  mildly  swore  — 
Although  I'd  met  with  no  extreme  disaster—- 

That  I  would  try  and  even  up  the  score, 
For  what  I  had  endured  —  with  great  humility  — 
Should  I  possess  the  muscular  ability. 

XXVI. 

And  time  supplied  me  that,  but  I  had  learned 

That  we  must  all  eventually  receive, 
From  nature's  balance  sheets,  what  we  have  earned ; 

At  least  I've  come  sincerely  to  believe 
We  must,  and  that  we  need  not  be  concerned 

For  others'  sins,  so  much  as  we  should  grieve 
In  memory  of  our  own,  which  round  us  throng  — 
Or  seek  revenge  for  real  or  fancied  wrong. 

XXVII. 

So  I  condemn  my  masters  only  through 

A  higher  power,  as  did  the  great  Saint  Paul 

The  wicked  coppersmith,  who  sought  to  do 
The  saint  "  much  evil,"  when  he  just  let  fall 

An  earnest  prayer  —  I  think  a  just  one  too, 
Which  we  may  safely  use  concerning  all 

Schoolmasters,  whether  Christians,  Jews  or  Turks, 

Whom  Heaven  "  reward  according  to  their  works." 


WILLOUGIIBY  S   WISDOM. 


XXVIII. 

But  I  digress,  and  I  will  now  return, 

To  where  I  left  the  party  on  the  hay, 
To  give  some  facts  from  which  the  world  might  learn 

Just  who  they  were  ;  but  I  forgot  to  say 
Tim  Turner  was  the  fourth,  and  he  would  spurn 

A  mild  suggestion  that  he  couldn't  play 
"  As  well's  the  rest "  —  wherein  perhaps  he  might, 
Although  the  youngest,  have  been  nearly  right  j 

XXIX. 

For  he  had  been  allowed  to  play  at  home, 

A  privilege  the  others  hadn't  had ; 
They  having  been  compelled  to  always  roam, 

In  search  of  pleasure,  which  is  always  bad 
For  children  who,  beneath  the  parent  dome, 

Should  all,  at  times,  be  "  riotously  glad," 
With  sports  and  games  intended  to  amuse  them, 
And  thus  be  taught  to  moderately  use  them. 

xxx. 

But  Mr.  Hayden  entertained  a  notion 

That  children  should  be  rather  strictly  reared ; 

Suppressing  every  juvenile  emotion, 
Excepting  such  as  he  himself  revered ; 

And  so,  with  an  unwavering  devotion, 

He  taught  his  own  such  precepts  as  appeared 

To  him  commendable  and  wise  and  true, 

Most  strict  in  morals  and  in  manners  too, 

XXXI. 

He  always  paid  the  latter  great  attention, 

Enforcing  them  with  a  peculiar  zest. 
Propriety  is  not  a  late  invention, 

And  what  of  true  politeness  to  a  guest, 


10  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

He  didn't  know,  'tis  not  worth  while  to  mention, 

Or  carry  forward  to  the  very  best 
Of  his  ability  ;  and  his  ability 
Was  very  great  in  matters  of  civility. 

XXXII. 

But  I  digress  again,  the  common  lot 

Of  story  tellers,  as  it  seems  to  be  ; 
Although  the  widow  Hezekiah  Bedott 

Assured  the  world  with  emphasis,  that  she 
Believed  in  always  coming  straight  to  what 

She  had  designed  to  say ;  and  as  for  me, 
I'll  tell  what  further  happened  on  the  hay, 
Before  the  truant  urchins  got  away. 

XXXIII. 

Though  I  perhaps  should  say,  in  common  suavity, 
That  Deacon  Alden  owned  the  fair  estate 

I've  partially  described ;  a  man  of  gravity, 

Who  gave  to  "  worldly  things  "  but  little  weight, 

And  who  believed  in  the  complete  depravity 
Of  all  mankind ;  and  thought  it  was  innate  ; 

A  faith  which  then  extended  far  and  wide, 

And  still  quite  frequently  seems  verified. 

XXXIV. 

I  said  'twas  Sunday,  but  the  village  spire, 
Which  pointed  reverently  towards  the  sky, 

And  beckoned  to  the  world  to  "  come  up  higher," 
And  to  the  faithful  to  be  drawing  nigh 

To  where  upon  the  altar  burned  the  fire, 

Whose  brightness  wasn't  seen  but  by  the  eye 

Of  faith,  was  three  or  four  long  miles  away, 

From  where  my  youthful  heroes  spent  the  day. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.          11 

xxxv. 

And  there  Nate's  older  brothers  went  to  hear 

The  joyful  tidings  of  salvation  free, 
Their  father  had  embraced  for  many  a  year, 

Instructing  them  therein  in  some  degree, 
Although  to  him  it  still  seemed  pretty  clear 

They  needed  further  teaching  more  than  he, 
So  he  remained  at  home,  content  to  search 
The  sacred  word,  while  sending  them  to  church. 

xxxvi. 

Although  there  were,  in  that  same  neighborhood, 

Devout  religious  services  that  day  ; 
Where  any  seeker  after  truth,  who  would, 

Might  hear  good  Elder  Sherman  preach  and  pray ; 
A  blacksmith  and  a  minister,  who  could, 

By  turns,  drive  horseshoe  nails  and  drive  away 
The  enemy  of  souls  ;  and  plainly  tell 
The  road  to  heaven  —  the  other  road  as  well. 

XXXVII. 

'Twas  at  the  schoolhouse,  half  a  mile  or  so, 

From  where  the  Aldens  lived,  and  towards  the  town ; 

Where  my  young  friends  were  given  leave  to  go, 
And  listen  to  the  truth  as  there  laid  down, 

By  those  deemed  competent  at  least  to  show, 
On  what  conditions  to  avoid  the  frown 

Of  God's  displeasure,  and  securely  hold 

A  safe  position  in  the  Christian  fold. 

XXXVIII. 

Nate  started  off,  but  seeing  George  and  Will 
Were  coming  up  the  road,  with  little  Tim, 

He  walked  in  their  direction  slowly,  till 

The  parties  met,  when  George  accosted  him, 


12  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

"  How  are  you  Nate  ?  you  look  dressed  up  to  kill ;"  — 

His  clothes  were  tidy  and  he  did  look  trim  — 
"  Did  anybody  know  when  you  got  back, 
The  other  night,  from  playing  high-low-jack  ?  " 

XXXIX. 

Which,  thus  referring  to  a  former  game, 

Suggested  also  that  it  would  be  quite 
Enjoyable  again  to  do  the  same, 

And  one  remarked  that  "  like  enough  "  they  might ; 
And  all  to  that  conclusion  quickly  came, 

Provided  they  were  safely  out  of  sight ; 
As  presently  they  were,  as  we  have  seen, 
The  barn  walls  making  a  sufficient  screen. 

XL. 

They  found  a  clean  half-bushel  standing  in 
The  granary,  wherein  was  kept  in  store, 

In  subdivisions  of  the  ample  bin, 

Oats,  corn  and  wheat,  of  which  there  still  was  more 

Or  less  remaining.     "  This  is  neat's  a  pin," 
Said  George,  inverting  it  upon  the  floor, 

For  on  the  mow  he  thought  they  would  be  able 

To  make  of  it  a  quite  convenient  table. 

XLI. 

They  had  no  seats,  but  sat  upon  the  hay, 
In  primitive  position  round  the  measure ; 

And  thus,  in  quite  an  unpretentious  way, 

Commenced  what  they  regarded  as  a  pleasure  ; 

Instead  of  the  improvement  of  the  day, 
In  laying  up  some  little  store  of  treasure, 

In  that  bright  haven  of  man's  future  weal, 

Where  moth  will  not  corrupt  and  thieves  not  steal. 


WILLOUGIIBY'S  WISDOM.  13 

XLII.     . 

"  I'll  save  my  ace,"  said  Nathan,  as  he  drew 
From  out  his  hand,  and  on  the  other  three, 

Already  played,  and  nearly  worthless,  threw 
The  ace  of  trumps ;  which  you  and  I  can  see 

Was  less  sagacious  —  though  the  best  he  knew, 
From  what  he'd  seen  of  playing  then  —  than  he 

Himself  regarded  it ;  a  grand  mistake, 

Which  inexperience  must  often  make. 

XLIII. 

"  The  ace,"  observed  his  partner,  who  was  Will, 
"  Don't  need  no  savin',  for  it  takes  'em  all  ; 

And  when  you  have  it  you  should  keep  it  till 

You  have  a  chance  to  swing ;"  which  seemed  to  call 

In  question  his  ability,  or  skill, 

And  intimate  that  it  was  rather  small ; 

Which,  though  'twas  true,  and  though  'twas  kindly  meant, 

Appeared  to  him  somewhat  impertinent. 

XLIV. 

And  he  replied  quite  earnestly,  "  I  know 
As  much,  I  guess,  about  this  game,  as  you ; 

I've  seen  the  big  boys  play,  and  they  play  so  — 
And  seen  'em  play  it  'fore  you  ever  knew 

Enough  to  tell  which  card  was  high  or  low ;" 
And  thus  enforcing  what  he  deemed  was  due, 

In  deference  to  seniors,  Nate  removed 

The  trick,  for  taking  which,  he'd  been  reproved. 

XLV. 

It  being  now  his  turn  to  play  again  — 

Will  being  notified  to  keep  his  place  — • 
He  came  to  partly  comprehend  that  when 

A  player  held  the  king  or  queen  or  ace, 


14  WILLOTJGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

It  might  be  well  to  "  swing  "  for  jack  or  ten, 

Especially  the  former,  which,  in  case 
It  should  be  captured,  counted  him  the  same 
As  high  or  low,  or  one  point  in  the  game. 

XLVI. 

He  thought  it  over,  but  a,*  he  could  bring 
Himself  to  no  decision,  condescended 

To  say  inquiringly,  "  Now  I  can  swing," 
As  if  it  were  the  course  he  had  intended ; 

For  his  remaining  hand  contained  the  king, 

Which  he  would  play  if  it  were  recommended  ; 

And  hesitatingly  he  looked  at  Will, 

Half  throwing  down  the  card,  but  holding  still. 

XL  VII. 

"  "No  talking  crossboard,"  here  demanded  Tim, 
For  he,  as  luck  would  have  it,  held  the  jack, 

Which  was  the  only  trump  dealt  off  to  him, 
Of  all  the  baker's  dozen  in  the  pack, 

Which  made  the  prospect  seem  a  little  grim, 
If  his  opponent  swung,  which  now,  alack ! 

Was  threatened,  and  he  knew  it  was  but  fair, 

That  all  the  rules  should  be  observed  with  care. 

XL  VIII. 

"  You  mind  your  business  ;  I  shall  say  and  do," 
Retorted  Nate,  "  jest  what  I  please  about 

What  I  shall  lead  with,  and  I'll  lick  you  too, 
You  little  fool  you,  if  you  don't  look  out ; " 

A  threat  he'd  willingly  have  carried  through, 
Had  circumstances  favored  it,  no  doubt, 

But  as  it  was,  some  future  time  must  bide, 

While  Tim  in  bristling  eloquence  replied, 


WILLOTJGHBY'S  WISDOM.  15 

XLIX. 

"  No  you  won't  lick  me  nuther,"  and  his  eye 

Was  flashing  with  defiance  all  the  while, 

"  You  can't  do  no  such  thing,  you  da^n't  try, 

You  great  stout  lummox,  you,  you  dasn't,  I'll  — 
Here  his  bravado  was  determined  b^ 

A  sound  which,  grating  harshly,  like  a  file, 
On  all  their  ears,  at  once  was  recognized, 
And  they  were  no  less  frightened  than  surprised. 


'Twas  made  by  turning  round  the  old  halfmoon, 
Or  crescent  fastener  which  held  the  door, 

That  opened  from  the  yard ;  and  very  soon 
A  well-known  step  was  heard  upon  the  floor ; 

And  as  the  dial  was  approaching  noon, 

They  knew  that  one  or  two  short  minutes  more, 

And  Deacon  Alden  would  be  on  the  mo\v, 

Where  they  were  busy  with  their  playing  now. 

LI. 

They  were  expecting  him,  but  thought  he  would 
Have  been  a  half  hour  later  at  the  least ; 

And  being  well  aware  the  buildings  stood 
In  such  position  he  must  pass  the  east, 

And  enter  from  the  southern  side,  they  should, 
They  thought,  detect  the  sound  long  ere  it  ceased, 

Of  his  approaching  footsteps,  when  they  might 

Get  on  the  "  high  beams,"  safely  out  of  sight. 

LII. 

And  this  they  would  have  done,  I  have  no  doubt, 

At  any  point  of  time  except  the  one 
Wherein  unhappily  it  came  about, 

The  little  angry  scrimmage  was  begun  ; 


16 

And  which,  the  very  moment  he  came  out, 

Was  at  its  height ;  and  ere  the  fray  was  done  — 
Save  by  the  creaking  of  the  great  barn  door  — 
He  unannounced,  stepped  in  upon  the  floor. 

LIII. 

They  saw  the  situation  at  a  glance  — 

A  mental  glance,  which  came  to  them  by  sound ; 
Wherein  was  nothing  seen  but  sore  mischance, 

In  view  of  which,  in  silence  most  profound, 
They  stood  in  fear  —  which  ever  doth  enhance 

Our  present  woes  —  and  scarce  could  look  around. 
Tim's  courage  was  all  gone,  and  Nathan's  too, 
The  latter  whispering,  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

LIV. 

He  said  no  more,  and  could  have  made  no  move, 

To  further  any  plan  of  extrication, 
From  what  appeared,  and  what  would  doubtless  prove, 

To  be  a  rather  awkward  situation. 
Will's  thoughts  ran  slowly  in  the  mental  groove  — 

He  couldn't  act  without  some  meditation, 
Requiring  time ;  and  'twas  too  grave  a  case 
For  little  Tim  to  meet  with,  face  to  face. 

LV. 

'Tis  said  that  when  a  people  are  oppressed, 
By  home  misgovernment  or  foreign  nation, 

Until  their  grievances  must  be  redressed, 
And  when,  to  push  some  vital  reformation, 

They  need  a  leader  of  a  magic  crest, 

Whose  genius  seems  to  come  of  inspiration, 

The  leader  always  comes;  which  reverential 

And  wise  men  have  believed  is  Providential. 


17 


LVI. 

I  say  not  this  is  so,  nor  do  I  say 

That  it  is  not ;  but  rather,  by  evasion, 

I  leave  the  reader  free  to  have  his  way, 
In  his  beliefs,  without  undue  persuasion ; 

But  this  I  say  —  as  frequently  we  may  — 

That  there  was  one  who  equalled  the  occasion 

We're  now  considering,  and  made  amends 

For  lack  of  effort  by  his  younger  friends. 

LVII. 

George  Hayden  I  have  said  was  but  a  lad, 
And  he  could  not  endure  a  mental  strain, 

Perhaps,  beyond  his  years ;  and  yet  he  had 
A  nimble  finger  and  a  nimble  brain  ; 

And  to  his  other  merits  we  may  add 

That  (which,  if  old  or  young,  but  few  maintain, 

With  judgment  such  as  needs  but  slight  revision,) 

Of  quick  perception  and  of  prompt  decision. 

LVIII. 

In  other  words,  he  could  decide  instanter, 
In  many  cases,  what  'twere  best  to  do  ; 

He  reasoned  in  a  sort  of  moral  canter, 
On  great  occasions,  like  the  one  in  view, 

Where  ordinary  wits  would  balk  and  banter,. 
Until  the  opportunity  fell  through ; 

As  I  have  squandered  many  an  opportunity, 

Because  my  mental  powers  were  not  in  unity. 

LIX. 

He  hesitated  but  an  instant,  when 
He  had  discovered,  or  devised  a  way 

By  which  they  might  escape  detection ;  then 
He  whispered,  "  Quick,  get  underneath  the  hay : ' 


18  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

And  ne'er  was  warrior,  marshalling  his  men, 

Obeyed  with  more  alacrity  than  they 
Displayed  in  executing  his  commands, 
By  quick  and  dexterous  use  of  feet  and  hands. 

LX. 

The  shrinkage  of  the  mow  made  some  beginning, 

Or  helped  to  much  more  readily  begin 
The  game  they  had  but  little  chance  of  winning, 

Which  they,  however,  were  in  hopes  to  win  ; 
And  at  the  terminus  of  their  "first  inning  — 

To  use  a  sporting  phrase  —  they  all  were  in 
Between  the  boards  and  hay ;  a  situation 
That  screened  them  partially  from  observation. 

LXI. 

But  one  important  thing  they  all  forgot, 

Which  threatened  to  assume  an  ugly  shape ; 

And  'twas  a  question  if  they  LOW  were  not 

In  what  might  prove  a  still  more  serious  scrape ; 

For  this  new  difficulty  seemed  full  fraught 

With  danger  — which  they  yet  might  not  escape  — 

Of  placing  him  they  fled  from  face  to  face 

With  all  the  facts  pertaining  to  the  case. 

LXII. 

They'd  left  the  pack  of  cards  where  they  were  laid, 
Upon  the  measure,  when  the  trump  was  turned ; 

Except  the  ones  they  held,  and  hadn't  played, 
Which  they  had  quite  instinctively  inurned 

In  their  side  pockets,  ere  their  flight  was  made  ; 

And  when  George  thought  of  this,  which  now  concerned 

So  unmistakably,  their  future  weal, 

He  feared  it  might  the  whole  affair  reveal. 


19 


LXIII. 

And  even  then,  from  out  his  hiding-place, 

He  thrust  his  head,  and  glanced  around  anew, 

To  see  if  he  might  cautiously  retrace 
His  one  misstep ;  but  coming  into  view, 

He  saw  the  old  slouched  hat  and  solemn  face 
Of  Deacon  Alden,  and  again  withdrew, 

To  wait,  as  needs  he  must,  to  see  what  next ; 

Chagrined,  defeated,  puzzled  and  perplexed. 

LXIV. 

And  now  the  deacon  stepped  upon  the  mow, 
And  chanced  to  turn  his  eyes  directly  where 

The  measure  stood  ;  and  then  with  knitted  brow, 
He  murmured  to  himself,  "  I  do  declare  ! 

What  have  those  reckless  boys  been  up  to  now? 

And  why  should  they  have  left  their  things  right  there, 

Especially  the  cards?  which  they  are  sure 

To  always  put  where  they  will  be  secure." 

LXV. 

He  slowly  turned  to  where  his  pitchfork  lay, 
"  They  can't  be  up  here  now  ?  "  he  queried,  as 

He  looked  upon  the  beams,  and  in  the  bay, 
And  all  about,  "  no,  I  am  sure  there  has 

Been  no  one  here ;  besides,  they  went  away 

To  church.  It  must  have  been,  and  doubtless  was, 

Last  night,  for  I  remember  mother  said 

She  heard  them  going  up  quite  late  to  bed." 

LXVI. 

And  he  resolved  to  sacrifice  the  pack, 

Or  what  was  left  of  it,  and  place  it  where 

It  could  entice  no  more  to  ruin's  track, 
Its  youthful  owners,  in  its  evil  snare ; 


20  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

At  least  he'd  see  that  when  they  should  come  back 

To  look  for  it,  they  shouldn't  find  it  there  ; 
And  thus  while  vindicating  heaven's  law, 
He  busily  threw  down  his  hay  and  straw. 

LXVII. 

Young  George,  meanwhile,  had  not  been  idle  in 
His  hiding-place,  but  slyly  peering  through 

His  rustic  covering,  so  loose  and  thin, 
Had  been  determining  what  he  could  do ; 

If  it  were  possible  he  yet  might  win, 

And  save,  perchance,  his  reputation  too ; 

For  he  himself  regarded  getting  under 

The  hay  without  the  cards,  a  sort  of  blunder. 

LXVIII. 

He  saw  the  deacon  once  or  twice,  who  seemed 
Quite  busy  with  the  hay  he  chanced  to  get 

Some  distance  from  the  cards,  and  so  he  deemed 
It  likely  that  he  hadn't  seen  them  yet ; 

A  kindly  circumstance,  through  which  there  gleamed 
A  lingering  hope ;  in  view  of  which  he  set 

Himself  to  work  to  cautiously  fulfill 

A  purpose  which  he  hoped  might  serve  them  still. 

LXIX. 

He  wasn't  more  than  half  a  dozen  feet 

From  where  the  measure  stood  ;  and  it  occurred 

To  him  that  he  perhaps  might  yet  compete 
Successfully  —  and  not  be  seen  or  heard  — 

For  what  were  now  a  prize  ;  and  thus  complete 
The  safety  of  their  flight.    He  gently  stirred, 

And  pushed  the  yielding  hay  to  right  and  left, 

And  crawled  along  the  seam  he  thus  had  cleft, 


21 


LXX. 


"Until  he  reached  a  point  from  which  he  thrust 
His  hand  up  through  the  hay,  beside  the  measure, 

And  with  commendable,  undoubting  trust, 
In  Providence  or  fortune,  had  the  pleasure 

(As  commonly  such  great  persistence  must) 

Of  grasping  in  his  hand  the  longed-for  treasure ; 

Which  he  withdrew,  but  he  was  still  in  fear 

The  deacon  might  have  chanced  to  see  or  hear, 

LXXI. 

His  coup  cTetat;  and  anxiously  he  lay, 

And  listened  for  the  sound,  his  ears  to  thrill, 

Of  further  rustling  of  the  deacon's  hay, 
Which  he  had  heard  so  constantly  until 

The  present ;  but  the  sound  had  died  away, 

And  now  no  longer  reached  him.    All  was  still ; 

Unless  we  should,  perhaps,  except  the  beating 

Which  his  own  heart  was  rapidly  repeating. 

LXXII. 

The  stillness  was,  however,  broken  when, 
A  moment  afterwards,  he  heard  the  tread 

Of  footsteps  going  down  the  ladder,  then 
Across  the  floor,  and  rapidly  they  sped  : 

The  great  door  on  its  hinges  swung  again, 
The  deacon  had  precipitately  fled ; 

As  was  apparent  to  the  listening  ear, 

Until  the  sound  it  could  no  longer  hear. 

LXXIII. 

No  sooner  had  George  listened  to  the  last 
Faint,  lingering  echo  of  the  footsteps'  fall, 

Than  (as  a  feudal  chieftain's  bugle  blast 

Might  bring  his  followers  to  moat  and  wall), 


22  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

Emerging  from  the  hay,  and  having  cast 
A  hasty  glance  around,  his  muffled  call 
Of  "boys,  he's  gone,"  brought  face  to  face  with  him, 
His  waiting  fellows,  Nathan,  Will  and  Tim. 

LXXIV. 

Said  Tim,  "  Did  he  git  all  the  cards  there,  say  ?  " 
"  I  reckon  not,"  said  George,  "  but  he'll  git  us, 

Unless  we  hurry  up  and  git  away 

From  here  darned  soon  "  —  the  mild  and  only  "  cuss 

Word  "  often  used  by  him  —  "  he  didn't  stay 
To  do  his  fodderin' ;  there'll  be  a  muss 

When  he  comes  back,  I'll  bet,  unless  we're  gone," 

Then  saying  in  commanding  tones,  "  come  on," 

LXXV. 

He  led  the  way  to  where  the  ladder  stood, 
Descending  which,  he  walked  across  the  floor, 

As  quickly  as  conveniently  he  could, 

And  very  cautiously  unclasped  the  door, 

For  Jie  conjectured  that  the  deacon  would 
Be  likely  to  return,  perhaps  before 

They  would  be  able  to  get  safely  hence, 

Across  the  yard  and  o'er  the  lofty  fence. 

LXXVI. 

But  this  they  soon  accomplished,  when  they  were, 
At  least  for  now,  well  out  of  danger's  reach, 

Debating  as  to  what  might  yet  occur, 

— Indulging  in  congratulative  speech  ; 

And  thanking  all  the  saints  the  calendar 
Enumerates,  or  catechisms  teach, 

That  they  had  thus  escaped  what  might  have  been 

A  bad  predicament  to  have  been  in. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  23 

LXXVII. 

It  only  now  remained  for  Nate  to  get 

Into  the  house ;  and  he,  perchance,  would  learn 
That  such  an  undertaking  was  beset 

With  dangers  which  might  justly  give  concern ; 
Although  it  must  not  be  attempted  yet, 

Until  the  time  arrived  for  his  return 
From  morning  service  at  the  schoolhouse,  where 

They  hadn't  reached  as  yet  the  closing  prayer. 

LXXVIII. 

George  thought  it  over  hastily  and  said, 

"  You  go  along  behind  the  buildings  till 
You  git  the  other  side,  and  in  the  shed, 

And  hide  behind  the  woodpile  and  keep  still ; 
Or  git  up  on  the  timbers  overhead, 

And  when  you  hear  'em  comin',  as  you  will 
'Fore  long,  from  meet'n,  then  as  still's  a  mouse, 
Slip  out  the  shed  and  go  right  in  the  house." 

LXXIX. 

Which  he,  according  to  his  orders,  did  ; 

Or  rather,  which  he  undertook  to  do, 
As  nearly  as  he  could  as  he  was  bid ; 

While  George  and  Will  and  Tim  ran  quickly  to 
The  little  brook  a  few  rods  off  and  hid, 

Behind  some  bushes  which  they  might  look  through  ; 
The  "  beaver  meadow  brook,"  'twas  called,  which  crossed 
The  road,  and  running  eastward,  soon  was  lost 

LXXX. 

In  Joe's  brook,  or  "  the  great  brook,"  which  its  way 
From  thence  pursued  to  river,  lake  and  sea  ; 

And  here  the  truants  had  designed  to  stay, 
In  safe  concealment,  till  it  seemed  to  be 


24  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

Judicious  to  go  home  ;  where  they  would  say 

But  little  of  the  meeting,  or  agree 
'Twas  "  'bout  as  common,"  if  interrogated, 
Wherein  the  truth  should  not  be  overstated, 

LXXXI. 

To  any  great  extent,  they  rightly  thought, 
Although  we  must  admit  they  would  thereby, 

Have  done  what  Jerry  Train,  the  drover,  sought, 
By  sheer  deception,  deep  and  dark  and  sly, 

To  do,  when  he  from  purest  fiction,  wrought 

"  A  truth  which  artfully  concealed  a  lie  ;" 

As  many  a  lie  has  often  been  concealed, 

By  truth  which  was  but  partially  revealed. 

LXXXII. 

"  I  wonder,"  queried  Gecnge,  "  if  Kate  got  in 
The  woodshed,  as  I  told  him  to,  and  what 

He's  up  to  now.     If  he  plays  so's  to  win, 
And  gits  into  the  house  and  don't  git  caught, 

We're  all  right,  and  they  won't  know  where  we've  been." 
"  Hum !  "  muttered  Tim,  "  they'll  ketch  him,  like  as  not, 

I'll  bet  if  I  was  there  I'd  keep  away  — 

But  didn't  I  stump  him  pretty  smart  though,  say?" 

LXXXIII. 

"  Yes,"  George  replied,  "  you  stumped  him  smart  enough, 
But  then  you  wouldn't  if  you  hadn't  known 

That  Will  and  I  was  there.     You  wouldn't  bluff 
Him  that  way  much  if  you  should  be  alone 

With  him,  for  you'd  git  handled  mighty  rough, 
As  once  last  winter,  when  you  had  to  own 

You  dasn't  go  to  school  alone ;  and  one 

Time  when  you  met  him,  that  you  cut  and  run." 


WISDOM.  25 


LXXXIV. 

"  I  guess  you'd  run,"  said  he,  in  more  subdued, 
And  milder  tones,  "  if  you'd  been  where  I  was, 

That  day  last  winter,  cold  as  'twas*  and  you'd 

Been  ducked  and  had  your  face  washed,  all  because 

You  wouldn't  own  you'd  sassed  him  " —  some  old  feud 
Referring  to,  that  hinged  on  private  laws, 

And  arbitrary  rule,  —  "  I'll  bet  you'd  do 

Jest  what  I  did ;  you're  older  'n  he  is,  too." 

LXXXV. 

While  thus  his  prowess  and  his  grievances, 
He  dwelt  upon  by  turns,  young  Nate,  instead, 

Was  quite  successfully  performing  his 
Allotted  task.    He  got  into  the  shed, 

Unseen  by  mortal ;  which  should  be,  and  is, 
Recorded  to  his  credit ;  as  'tis  said 

The  only  rule  the  world  will  even  profess 

To  judge  us  by,  is  failure  or  success. 

LXXXVI. 

And  thus  far  he  succeeded  very  well, 
But  climbing  up  upon  the  wood  pile,  he, 

By  awkwardness  or  chance  —  I  cannot  tell 
Exactly  which,  I  wasn't  there  to  see  — 

Displaced  it  slightly,  whereupon  it  fell, 
And  with  a  crash  quite  loud  enough  to  be 

Distinctly  heard  some  little  distance  round, 

The  wood  and  he  came  tumbling  to  the  ground. 

LXXXVII. 

That  he  was  frightened,  we  may  safely  say, 

If  ordinary  methods  may  be  trusted, 
Of  ascertaining  facts,  and  there  he  lay, 

Considering  himself  completely  "  busted ; " 


26 


Although  he  would  have  tried  to  get  away, 

Or  as  the  modern  phrase  is,  would  have  "  dusted," 
But  there  was  no  convenient  place  to  dust ; 
And  so  he  did  what  such  an  urchin  must, 

LXXXVHI.   . 

In  such  predicament ;  he  quickly  got 

Upon  his  feet,  and  looking  towards  the  door, 

He  stood  and  trembled,  as  of  course  he  thought 
The  time  of  his  prosperity  was  o'er  ; 

That  they  would  presently  be  out,  and  what 
The  dickens  he  should  do  or  say,  was  more 

Than  he  could  tell ;  but  as  they  didn't  come, 

He  thanked  his  stars,  although  his  lips  were  dumb. 

LXXXIX. 

Moreover,  he  proceeded  to  express 

His  gratitude  for  being  let  alone, 
When  he  had  stood  a  minute,  more  or  less, 

Until  his  wits  had  come  to  be  his  own, 
Or  he  had  come  to  normally  possess 

The  faculties  so  lately  overthrown  — 
By  getting  into  two  old  empty  barrels, 
In  hopes  to  "  save  his  bacon  "  and  his  laurels. 

xc. 

I  say  two  barrels,  he  got  into  one, 

Which  proved  too  small  to  hold  him  at  his  ease, 
And  turned  another  over  it,  which  done, 

He  stood  erect  and  hidden ;  and  in  these, 
Although  'tis  true  some  little  risk  was  run, 

He  felt  as  snug  as  old  Diogenes, 
When  living  in  his  tub  ;  and  all  unknown, 
And  undisturbed,  he  there  remained  alone, 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  27 

xci. 

For  half  an  hour  or  so,  until  he  heard 

The  wagons  coming  slowly  down  the  road, 

And  people  talking;  and  it  then  occurred 
To  him  he'd  best  be  changing  his  abode ; 

And  slipping  through  the  door  —  not  having  erred 
In  point  of  time  —  as  in  his  breast  there  glowed 

The  rapture  of  success,  which  he  had  earned  — 

He  walked  into  the  house  quite  unconcerned. 

xcn. 

Now  Nathan  had  a  pious  old  grandmother ; 

And  what  benighted  one  of  us  has  not  — 
Or  hasn't  had,  at  least,  sometime  or  other, 

Though  now  she  may  be  gone  and  quite  forgot  ? 
And  grandmas  "  stick  much  closer  than  a  brother," 

Insisting  their  descendants  shall  be  taught 
The  good  old  way,  and  made  to  walk  therein, 
To  shun  the  paths  of  evil  and  of  sin. 

ICIII. 

His  father's  mother  —  and  she  lived  with  them, 
In  patient  waiting  for  the  great  "  I  Am," 

To  crown  her  with  the  Christian's  diadem, 
To  call  her  to  himself  and  to  the  Lamb. 

As  much  more  righteous  than  the  world,  as  Shem 
And  Japheth  were  than  was  their  brother  Ham, 

She  waited,  as  I  say,  for  the  reward 

Of  those  who  most  devoutly  "  love  the  Lord." 

xciv. 

She  loved  this  grandchild  too,  perhaps  no  less, 
Though  not  in  such  a  reverential  way ; 

She  loved  his  person,  and  she  sought  to  bless 
His  soul,  for  which  she  ne'er  forgot  to  pray : 


28  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

And  while  she  met  him  with  a  fond  caress, 

On  this  occasion,  she  went  on  to  say  — 
When  she  had  called  him  to  her  side,  and  thrown 
Her  arms  around  him  —  in  a  solemn  tone, 

xcv. 

"  You  know,  my  child,  how  often  you've  been  warned 
Against  the  wicked  practices  of  men 

And  boys  who  play  at  cards."     Had  she  suborned, 
Or  summoned  witnesses  to  prove  that  then 

He'd  just  been  playing,  and  if  he  had  scorned, 
Like  Washington,  to  tell  a  whopper  when 

It  would  have  served  him,  he  could  not  have  been 

More  startled  and  surprised.     The  tears  came  in 

xcvi. 

His  eyes,  for  when  the  cards  were  mentioned,  he 
Suspected  that  somehow  the  truth  was  out : 

His  father  sat  close  by,  and  seemed  to  be 
In  meditation,  or  perhaps  in  doubt ; 

His  mother  too  was  near,  and  seeing  she 
Was  looking  earnestly,  he  was  about 

Half  ready  to  confess  the  whole  affair, 

And  take  the  consequences  then  and  there. 

XCVII. 

But  grandma  kindly  said,  "  Don't  cry,  my  dear, 
For  I'm  not  going  to  chide  you,  only  tell 

What  happened  in  the  barn."     Poor  Nathan  here 
Grew  pale  again,  and  from  his  cheek  there  fell, 

Upon  her  wrinkled  hand, -an  honest  tear  ; 

For  he  was  frightened  —  puzzled  too,  as  well, 

To  catch  the  hidden  meaning  of  it  all, 

While  tears  continued  rapidly  to  fall. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  29 

XCVIII. 

"  Don't  cry,"  continued  she,  "  for  you  have  been 
To  meeting,  like  a  good,  well-meaning  lad  ; 

I  hope  the  preacher  pointed  out  the  sin 
Of  playing  cards,  so  dangerous  and  bad  — 

But  don't  you  think  the  boys  were  playing  in  • 
The  barn  last  night  ?  "    By  this  time  Nathan  had 

Begun  to  see  the  turn  that  things  were  taking, 

And  so  left  off  his  crying  and  his  quaking. 

xcix. 

"At  least,"  she  presently  went  on  to  say, 

"  The  reasons  why  we  think  so,  seem  so  good, 

We  have  but  little  doubt;  for  when,  to  day, 
Your  father  went  to  give  the  cows  their  food, 

And  got  upon  the  mow,  there  on  the  hay, 
His  own  half-bushel,  bottom  upwards,  stood, 

And  on  it  lay  a  pack  of  cards,  as  when 

They  had  been  played,  or  might  be  played  again. 

c. 

"The  « ten  of  hearts,'  whatever  that  may  be, 

Had  been  *  turned  up  for  trump,'  your  father  said  — 

A  card  with  spots,  as  he  explained  to  me, 

In  shape  like  human  hearts,  and  colored  red ; 

A  thing  I  wish  that  you  might  never  see, 
By  which  so  many  human  souls  are  led 

Away  from  Him  who  died  to  save  mankind, 

And  from  the  '  narrow  path  '  which  '  few  shall  find.' 

ci. 

"  But  what  I've  told  you  now,  my  child,  is  not 

The  strangest  part  of  what  I  had  to  tell ; 
At  least  it  isn't  what  your  father  thought 
Most  unaccountable  of  what  befell ; 


30 

• 

Though  I  have  long  believed,  and  sometimes  sought 

To  prove  to  others  that  it  is  a  well 
Established  fact  that  Satan  always  guards, 
With  jealous  care,  the  players  and  the  cards. 

en. 

"  And  now  it  has  been  shown  to  be  a  fact, 

Beyond  a  doubt,  or  pretty  nearly  so ; 
The  Evil  one  has  been  so  plainly  tracked, 

In  what  has  just  occurred,  I  almost  know 
(Although  he  wasn't  noticed  in  the  act, 

As  he  invisibly  may  come  and  go) 
'Twas  he  himself ;  for  there  could  be  no  one 
But  him  to  do  what  surely  has  been  done. 

cm. 

"  For  when  your  father  got  upon  the  mow, 

Where  all  was  still,  there  being  no  one  there, 

He  saw  the  cards,  as  I  remarked  just  now, 
In  plain  sight  lying  on  the  measure,  where 

They  doubtless  had  been  used ;  and  then,  somehow, 
By  unseen  hand,  or  spirit  of  the  air, 

They  disappeared ;  and  when  he  looked  again, 

The  cards  were  gone,  and  out  of  human  ken." 

civ. 

"  And  was  the  measure  gone  ?  "  asked  Nate,  who  seemed 
Less  shocked  than  she  apparently  expected, 

By  revelations  she  so  dreadful  deemed, 
That  all  his  hair  might  well  have  been  erected ; 

As  would  her  own,  perhaps,  if  she  had  dreamed 
Of  all  the  means  by  which  he  had  detected 

The  error  into  which  she  had  been  led, 

And  error  long  by  superstition  fed. 


\       cv- 
"  No,  no,  my  child,  the  measure  wasn't  gone," 

Grandma  replied,  "  but  'tis  enough  to  know, 
That  he  took  care  of  what  was  lying  on 

The  measure,  or  enough  at  least,  to  show 
That  he  had  come,  and  suddenly  withdrawn ; 

And  some  connection  of  the  world  below, 
With  wicked  games;  and  cards  especially, 
Which  lead  to  ruin,  as  I  plainly  see. 

cvi. 

"  But  that's  not  all ;  for  when  your  father  came 
Into  the  house  and  told  us  what  the  boys 

Had  done,  and  how  that  he  of  evil  fame, 
Had  used  the  arts  which  he  alone  employs, 

I  think  that  he  was  followed  by  the  same 
Intruding  spirit ;  for  we  heard  a  noise, 

Out  in  the  shed,  as  if  a  tier  of  wood 

Had  fallen  to  the  ground ;  and  why  it  should, 

cvn. 

"  We  couldn't  see,  as  there  was  no  one  there, 

Unless  it  was  the  evil  genius,  who 
Had  come  again,  his  presence  to  declare, 

To  see  if  there  was  mischief  yet  to  do ; 
And  as  we  didn't  any  of  us  care 

To  venture  out  to  see  if  it  was  true 
That  any  wood  fell  down  when  rumbling  so, 
We're  still  uncertain  if  it  did  or  no." 

CVIII. 

"  I'll  go  and  see,"  said  Nate,  "  I  ain't  afraid," 

And  suddenly  he  started  towards  the  door, 
And  though  she  was  surprised,  and  though  she  made 
Some  strong  objections,  in  a  moment  more, 


32 


The  door  was  opened  and  the  matter  laid 

Before  them,  with  the  evidence  which  Bore 
Upon  the  case,  whereon  some  light  was  thrown, 
And  that  the  wood  was  down  was  clearly  shown. 

cix. 

"  Why  Nathan,"  Grandma  said,  "how  dare  you  go 
Out  there?  Is  it  because  you  didn't  hear 

The  crash,  at  which  we  all  were  startled  so, 
Or  is  it  that  the  good  have  naught  to  fear  ? " 

Yet  she  herself  was  good,  but  didn't  know 
What  I  do  —  and  to  me  it  seems  quite  clear 

That,  while  our  virtues  may  our  fears  dispel, 

'Tis  sometimes  done  by  knowledge  quite  as  well. 

ex. 

And  Nate  had  some  good  reasons  to  believe 
That  Grandma's  theory  was  incorrect ; 

And,  though  he  wasn't  rapid  to  perceive 
A  subtle  truth,  could  easily  detect 

The  error  here.    However  she  might  weave 
Her  superstitions  round  it,  and  connect 

The  warp  and  woof  of  Satan  and  of  sin, 

The  "  broken  threads  "  could  not  be  "  woven  in." 

CXI. 

Well,  when  the  older  boys  got  home  from  church, 
The  deacon  took  them  solemnly  to  do, 

In  such  a  way  at  first,  as  seemed  to  smirch 
The  goodly  record  they  referred  him  to ; 

But,  though  he  prosecuted  his  research 
As  best  he  might,  could  not  discover  who 

It  was  that  left  the  measure  on  the  hay, 

Wherefrom  the  cards  were  spirited  away. 


33 


CXII. 

For  they,  of  course,  could  honestly  deny 

All  knowledge  of  the  facts ;  they  could,  in  sooth, 

Have  proven  for  themselves,  an  alibi, 

But  that  would  have  revealed  an  ugly  truth, 

More  dangerous  than  a  suspected  lie ; 

As  many  truths  confront  us  in  our  youth, 

That  'tis  a  little  hard  to  frankly  own, 

And  would  be  troublesome  if  they  were  known. 

CXIII. 

Their  history  was,  in  fact,  somewhat  akin, 
That  evening,  to  the  one  that  I've  related 

Of  these,  the  smaller  boys ;  for  they  were  in 
The  smithy,  similarly  situated  ; 

The  shop  of  Elder  Sherman,  which  had  been 
A  place  where  boys  had  sometimes  congregated, 

To  play  at  this  old  game  of  high-low-jack, 

Though  'twas,  of  course,  behind  the  elder's  back ; 

cxiv. 

Or  in  his  absence,  for  he  had  a  son, 

Who,  though  strong  influence  had  been  exerted 
Thereto  since  early  childhood  was  begun, 

Despite  his  preaching,  wasn't  yet  converted ; 
And  when  the  labors  of  the  day  were  done, 

As  by  a  plan  that  had  been  preconcerted, 
With  other  boys  he  sometimes,  in  the  shop, 
Played  games  long  after  it  was  time  to  stop. 

cxv. 

But  this  the  deacon  didn't  ascertain, 

And,  though  he  questioned  them  concerning  where 
They  were  the  night  before,  he  didn't  gain 

Much  knowledge  throwing  light  on  this  affair, 


34       .  WILLOTJGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

But  counselled  them  in  future  to  abstain 

From  practices  which  might  their  souls  ensnare, 
And,  partially  recovered  from  the  shock, 
Which  he'd  received,  went  back  to  feed  his  stock. 

cxvi. 

Meanwhile  the  other  boys,  Tim,  George  and  Will, 
Had  left  their  hiding-place  among  the  trees 

And  bushes,  where  they  had  remained  until 

The  "  meetin'  folks  "  appeared,  when,  seeing  these, 

George  bade  the  others  to  "  keep  mighty  still " 
About  where  they  had  been ;  then  quite  at  ease, 

They  slowly  walked  along  among  the  rest, 

As  each  concealed  the  knowledge  he  possessed. 

cxvu. 

On  reaching  home,  Will's  mother  asked  if  he 
Remembered  anything  the  preacher  said, 

When  George,  conjecturing  that  he  might  be 
Unequal  to  the  task,  replied  instead  : 

"  He  said  "  (and  that  was  probable)  "  that  we 
Must  not  play  cards  or  dance,  or  else  old  Ned 

Would  git  us,  but  I  don't  believe  he  knew, 

For  I  can't  see  what  hurt  'twill  do,  can  you  ?  " 

CXVIII. 

This  served  the  purpose  which  he  had  designed, 
And  called  attention  from  the  question  to 

The  answer  he  had  made ;  wherein  we  find 
A  proposition,  whether  false  or  true, 

That  each  may  settle  as  he  has  a  mind, 
Or  has  capacity  for  seeing  through 

A  moral  problem,  and  without  confusion, 

For  coming  to  a  rational  conclusion. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  35 

cxix. 

Some  earnest  counsel  then  the  mother  gave, 

Concerning  moral  and  divine  affairs, 
And  virtues  which  she  deemed  most  sure  to  save, 

And  when  she  had  resumed  some  household  cares, 
Will  went  for  what  his  stomach  seemed  to  crave, 

Into  the  pantry,  and  George  went  up  stairs, 
And  with  the  hand  his  mother's  lips  had  kissed, 
Drew  forth  the  cards  and  locked  them  in  his  "  chist." 

cxx. 

And  by  the  way,  that  "  chist "  of  his  was  what 

I  might  denominate  an  institution  ; 
To  which  his  earthly  treasures  he  had  brought, 

As  on  the  world  he  levied  contribution  : 
A  varied  list,  the  length  of  which  was  not 

Allowed  to  suffer  any  diminution, 
For  what  he  had  acquired,  when  once  'twas  there, 
He  watched  and  guarded  with  a  miser's  care. 

cxxi. 

Just  what  he  had  therein  I  cannot  say, 
That  is,  I  cannot  give  the  list  complete  ; 

Although  I've  seen  and  handled  in  my  day, 
A  few  things  which  he  used  to  there  secrete. 

He  had  a  more  or  less  obliging  way, 

Though  he  was  apt  to  make  his  favors  meet 

Some  obligation  which  from  him  was  due, 

Or  due  him,  being  cancelled,  to  renew. 

CXXII. 

He  had  a  book  entitled  "  Abalino," 

A  quaint  old  story  of  an  eastern  swain  — 

Although  concerning  it  but  little  I  know  — 
And  used  to  loan  it  to  his  sister  Jane, 


36 


For  a  consideration,  not  of  rhino, 

Like  circulating  libraries,  for  gain, 
But  something  she  could  either  say  or  do  ; 
And  in  the  same  way  Will  would  get  it  too. 

CXXIII. 

But  they  could  have  it  only  by  the  hour, 
And  sometimes  only  half  an  hour  a  day; 

Which  made  them  feel  at  times  a  little  sour, 
And  even  angry ;  but  it  was  the  way 

In  which  he  would  perpetuate  his  power, 
Dominion,  influence,  control  or  sway; 

As  kings  and  emperors  perpetuate 

Their  own,  in  managing  affairs  of  state. 

cxxiv. 

He  had  some  other  domineering  ways, 

Exhibiting  assumed  superiority, 
Which  he  was  fond  of  in  the  early  days 

And  years  that  long  preceded  his  majority, 
Exacting  homage  which  submission  pays 

To  those  who,  for  the  time,  are  in  authority, 
Which  often  is  usurped,  but  holden  still, 
In  bold  defiance  of  its  subjects'  will. 

cxxv. 

O  tyranny !  thou  hast  as  many  forms, 
As  shapeless  things  in  a  kaleidoscope ; 

And  livest  on  the  woes  which  come  in  swarms, 
To  drive  away  the  sweet,  delusive  hope, 

That  men  had  cherished  ;  and  which  cheers  and  warms 
Us  ever  as  we  onward  blindly  grope  — 

Base  tyranny,  which  dost  forever  frown  — 

Of  priest  and  king,  of  mitre  and  of  crown. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  37 

cxxvi. 

And  thou,  the  tyranny  of  older  boys  I 

How  much  the  world  has  suffered  from  thy  power ; 
How  often  hast  thou  filched  away  the  joys 

That  natively  belong  to  childhood's  hour, 
Till  nature  has  restored  the  equipoise 

Of  justice  and  of  right ;  and  made  thee  cower 
Before  the  subjects  of  thy  late  oppression, 
Whose  rights  at  length  were  in  their  own  possession. 

cxxvu. 

Another  interesting  book  George  had, 

The  story  of  "Alonzo  and  Melissa"; 
The  heroine  and  hero,  he  a  lad 

Who  often  quarrelled  with  the  pretty  miss  he 
Was  making  love  to,  which  is  always  bad, 

For  lovers  or  for  married  people.    This  he, 
However,  remedied  by  magic  power  — 
By  living  in  a  peace  enchanted  bower. 

CXXVIII. 

I  wish  somebody  would  invent  a  thing  — 
Or  rather  would  construct  a  new  condition 

Of  things  which  should,  by  love's  enchantment,  bring 
A  universal  peace ;  that  some  magician 

Might  over  human  hearts  a  halo  fling, 
To  justify  the  ancient  premonition, 

That  peaceful  men  should  make,  in  future  years, 

Plowshares  and  pruning  hooks  from  swords  and  spears. 

cxxix. 

That  night,  that  is,  the  night  succeeding  to 
The  day  on  which  occurred  what  I've  related, 

At  ten  o'clock  or  so,  the  actors  who 

Had  played  their  several  parts  therein,  as  stated, 


38 


Had  all  begun  successfully  to  woo 

The  drowsy  god,  save  two  who,  animated 
By  thoughts  more  serious,  were  wakeful  still : 
Grandma  was  one  of  these,  the  other  Will. 

cxxx. 

The  former  was  so  thoroughly  intent 
On  making  out  the  case  she  had  begun, 

In  her  own  mind,  according  to  its  bent, 
And  her  conceptions  of  the  "  Evil  One," 

To  whom  such  superhuman  power  was  lent, 
In  all  things  happening  beneath  the  sun, 

That  she  her  watchful  vigils  still  was  keeping, 

Long  after  common  mortals  had  been  sleeping. 

cxxxi. 

The  latter  wasn't  seeking  to  sustain 
The  fact  of  diabolic  interference, 

By  which  old  Clovenfoot  attempts  to  gain 
Accessions  to  the  host  of  his  adherents, 

But  he  was  trying  rather  to  explain 

A  moral  problem  on  its  first  appearance ; 

And  in  a  way  by  which  to  be  acquitted 

Of  wrongs  which  he  already  had  admitted, 

cxxxn. 

As  to  himself,  who,  in  a  childish  way, 

Was  sitting  now  in  judgment  on  the  case ; 

As  we  must  do  when  in  the  "judgment  day," 
Our  own  misdeeds  confront  us  face  to  face ; 

And  "  we  ourselves"  shall  be  compelled  to  say 
We  have  not  won  as  yet  the  moral  race, 

And  "  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 

To  give  in  evidence  "  where  virtue  halts. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  39 

CXXXIII. 

He  then  believed  it  was  a  deadly  sin 

To  play  at  cards,  for  so  he  had  been  taught ; 

A  habit  he  had  not  been  largely  in, 

And  one  wherein  he  hadn't  yet  been  caught, 

By  father  or  by  mother,  who  had  been 
So  careful  to  instruct  him  as  they  ought, 

In  all  which  might  secure  his  future  weal, 
.  And  bring  him  to  his  manhood  clean  and  leal. 

cxxxiv. 

And  now  besides  the  ordinary  one 

Of  doing  that  which  he  had  been  forbid, 

He  knew  that  he  some  other  wrongs  had  done, 
Which  might  or  might  not  easily  be  hid ; 

Which,  independent  of  the  hazard  run, 
His  own  reproving  conscience  sorely  chid; 

He  had  deceived  his  mother,  whose  kind  care 

And  love  had  sent  him  to  the  house  of  prayer. 

cxxxv. 

Besides,  it  was  the  holy  sabbath  day, 
That  he  had  thus  been  led  to  desecrate, 

In  such  unchristian,  irreligious  way 

As  heaven's  law  might  justly  compensate, 

By  retribution  which  they  tell  us  may, 
And  often  does,  the  guilty  soul  await, 

Unless  sincere  repentance  should  forestall 

The  consequences  of  the  ancient  fall. 

CXXXVI. 

But  he  repented,  and  he  even  wept, 

In  view  of  wrongs,  too  many  far  for  one  day, 

And  made  a  resolution  ere  he  slept, 

That  he  would  never  play  again  on  Sunday ; 


40 


And  he  determined  that  it  should  be  kept, 

Though  not  in  deference  to  Mrs.  Grundy, 
Of  whom  he  hadn't  heard,  but  in  compliance 
With  what  his  mother  taught  as  moral  science. 

CXXXVII. 

And  having  thus  repented  of  his  sins  — 
A  shift  to  which  sad  mortals  oft  are  driven, 

In  this  frail  world,  whose  moral  outs  and  ins 

Require  that  souls  should  frequently  be  shriven, 

When  retribution  for  the  past  begins  — 
And  deeming  he  was  partially  forgiven, 

And  having  earnestly  essayed  to  pray, 

He  soundly  slept  the  silent  hours  away. 


WILLOUGHBY'S    WISDOM. 


CANTO    SECOND. 


A  Mr.  Rollins  lived  half  way  between 

The  deacon's  house  and  Mr.  Hayden's  place, 

Who  had  a  boy,  perhaps  about  eighteen, 
Or  nineteen,  as  I  recollect  the  face 

His  growing  beard  had  just  begun  to  screen ; 
His  form  was  tall,  but  had  but  little  grace, 

His  character,  I  grieve  to  say,  had  less; 

At  least  he  wasn't  famed  for  righteousness. 

ii. 

A  caustic  writer  says  that  every  man 

Has  faults  enough  to  spoil  him  ;  and  'tis  true 

That  every  one  has  faults,  as  doubtless  can 
Be  demonstrated,  as  by  me  or  you  ; 

But  when  he  puts  all  mortals  under  ban, 
To  such  extent  of  worthlessness,  'tis  due 

To  God  and  man,  to  say  it  cannot  be, 

Since  He  created  wisely  you  and  me. 

in. 

But  this  Alfonso,  whom  they  nicknamed  Fon, 
Was  quite  as  valueless,  I  think,  as  any 

Whose  character  I  ever  studied  on, 
If  I  can  judge  correctly  by  the  many 


42  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

Bad  things  I  knew  of  him  in  days  agone, 

Although  he  may  perhaps  receive  his  penny, 
For  service  rendered,  the  eleventh  hour, 
To  humankindj  or  to  a  higher  power. 

IV, 

But  when  I  knew  him  he  was  not  a  saint  — 
Was  rather  quite  an  unregenerate  sinner  ; 

I  think  not  from  hereditary  taint, 

His  mother  had  much  native  goodness  in  her, 

His  father  too,  was  fairly  in  restraint 

Of  virtues  which  in  him  were  vastly  thinner 

Than  in  the  parent  stock  on  either  side; 

Alas !  that  such  sad  things  should  e'er  betide. 

v. 

Among  the  early  pastimes  which  he  had, 
Was  to  entice  away  a  smaller  boy, 

(And  I  remember  when  I  was  a  lad, 
To  thus  have  fallen  into  his  decoy ; 

Indeed  a  memory  would  be  rather  bad 
That  failed  to  recollect  it)  and  annoy 

The  helpless  victim  in  all  sorts  of  ways, 

To  make  unhappy  <!  happy  childhood's  days." 

VI. 

So  too,  young  Willoughby,  in  early  years, 
Well  knew  the  force  of  his  malicious  bent, 

And  often  struggled  to  keep  back  the  tears, 
Within  the  lachrymals  securely  pent, 

And  suffered  more  or  less  from  constant  fears, 
Among  the  evils  which  the  fates  had  sent, 

Through  this  young  lover  of  oppression,  when 

Beyond  the  reach  of  the  parental  ken. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  43 

VII. 

Not  evils  such  as  would  be  quite  unbearable, 
As  I,  perhaps,  should  say  in  Rollins'  favor ; 

But  saying  much,  it  would  be  deemed  but  parable, 
By  those  who  knew  him  when  he  was  a  shaver ; 

All  moral  garments  were  for  him  unwearable, 
All  moral  precepts  were  but  "  clishmaclaver," 

As  Scotchmen  say  in  their  quaint  Highland  phrase  - 

At  least  not  suited  to  his  early  days. 

VIII, 

But  trials  such  as  this,  for  instance  ;  when  • 
Perchance  they  were  alone  upon  the  heather, 

He'd  seize  Will's  hands  and  hold  them  firmly,  then 
Would  rub  or  strike  them  rapidly  together ; 

With  moderate  force,  but  o'er  and  o'er  again, 
As  millstones  whirl,  the  upper  o'er  the  nether, 

Until  between  the  friction  and  concussion, 

He  had  been  punished  like  a  guilty  Russian. 

IX. 

He  didn't  do  it  in  an  angry  way, 

But  in  a  seemingly  good-natured  one, 

Pretending  that  in  fact,  'twas  only  play  - 
That  all  he  wanted  was  "  a  little  fun  ;  " 

Then  cautioning  his  victim  not  to  say 

A  word  concerning  what  had  thus  been  done, 

He'd  smile  upon  him,  knowing  how  to  "  smile 

And  smile,  and  be  a  villain  "  all  the  while. 

x. 

His  father  owned  a  farm  of  meadow  land, 

Plateau  and  hill  in  requisite  variety, 
His  brother  Jack  was  three  years  older,  and 

Had  hoed  potatoes,  to  his  own  satiety, 


44 


Until  of  age,  when,  hoping  to  command 

Respect  and  cash,  and  get  in  good  society, 
He  went  to  town  and  with  a  merchant  there, 
Was  selling  dry  goods,  tin  and  wooden  ware. 

XI. 

The  father  was  a  man  of  heavy  frame, 
And  being  rather  corpulent  besides, 

In  easy  circumstances  too,  he  came 

At  length  to  love  his  ease,  and  daily  rides ; 

But  turned  an  honest  penny  still  the  same, 

By  buying  butter,  cheese,  wool,  beef  and  hides; 

And  other  things,  whose  subsequent  inflation 

Of  price,  gave  profit  to  the  speculation. 

XII. 

This  gave  Alfonso  largely  the  control 

Of  things  about  the  farm  ;  and  had  he  not 

Been  indolent,  besides  his  lack  of  soul, 

It  would  have  rendered  worse  the  luckless  lot 

Of  beast  and  boy,  whose  happiness  he  stole, 
Or  cast  a  shadow  over  what  they  got, 

By  curse  and  whip,  used  freely  at  his  work, 

Which  he,  however,  always  tried  to  shirk. 

XIII. 

He  had  occasion  once  to  go  "  to  mill," 

And  though  'twas  summer,  or  in  early  June, 

The  day  was  cold  and  raw  ;  the  air  was  chill, 
At  even  the  meridian,  or  noon  ; 

And  having  no  one  else,  he  offered  Will 

A  chance  to  ride ;  which  seemed  so  opportune, 

As  such  things  do  to  boys,  he  didn't  care 

If  he  accepted ;  so  they  rode  to  where 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  45 


XIV. 

The  old  grist-mill  had  stood  for  many  a  day ; 

'Twas  not  the  one  where  "Little  Jerry"  ground, 
Although  its  wood  was  wasting  with  decay, 

Its  stones  were  crumbling  and  the  wheels  went  round 
With  clattering  noise,  and  dripping  with  the  spray, 

And  this,  like  that,  "beneath  the  hill"  was  found, 
But  here  the  miller  was  of  stalwart  frame, 
Although  I  fail  to  recollect  his  name. 

xv. 

Fon  drove  into  the  yard  and,  getting  out, 

He  gave  the  reins  to  Will  and  took  the  grist  — 

He  piqued  himself  on  being  pretty  stout, 

And  deemed  that  strength  of  muscle  was  the  gist 

Of  youthful  virtues;  and  it  was  about 
The  only  one  he  had,  I  must  insist ; 

Unless  it  be  a  virtue  to  possess, 

Of  "  general  cussedness,"  a  trifle  less 

XVI. 

Than  some  one  else  can  boast  of.     "  You  stay  here, 
And  hold  the  team,"  he  said,  and  through  the  door, 

Regardless  of  the  chilly  atmosphere 

The  horse  and  Will  were  in,  he  quickly  bore 

His  heavy  sack  of  corn,  and  laid  it  near 
The  place  for  grinding  it,  upon  the  floor  ; 

And  by  the  fire  he  took  a  vacant  seat, 

And  on  the  genial  stove  hearth  warmed  his  feet. 

XVII. 

But  Will  was  sitting  where  the  wind  swept  past, 

In  frigid  waves,  across  the  open  space 
Before  the  door,  to  which  he  often  cast 

His  eyes,  while  covering  his  ears  and  face  : 


46 

The  white  horse  shivered  in  the  northern  blast, 
And  fain  would  have  resumed  the  rapid  pace, 
Which  brought  her  from  the  farm  :  and  thus  they  stood, 
Resisting  for  a  while,  as  best  they  could, 

XVIII. 

The  piercing  wind  and  cold  ;  but  then  it  chanced 

Lorenzo  Webb  came  also  to  the  mill, 
And  on  the  platform  threw  his  grist,  and  glanced 

His  eyes  around,  and  recognizing  Will, 
Who  lived  in  his  own  neighborhood,  advanced 

And  said,  in  tones  of  kindness  such  as  thrill 
The  heart,  "My  boy,  what  keeps  you  sitting  there?" 
"Fon  left  me,"  he  replied,  "  to  hold  the  mare." 

XIX. 

The  oath  Ren  used  I  must  forbear  to  print, 
Because  of  its  apparent  roughness,  though 

I  hold  there  was  a  native  virtue  in't 
I  should  commemorate ;  at  least  I  trow 

The  feeling  prompting  it,  in  virtue's  mint, 
Had  honestly  been  coined ;  and  this  I  know, 

That  it  was  vigorous,  if  not  refined ; 

And  that  to  Will,  his  acts  were  very  kind. 

xx. 

He  took  the  horse,  when  he  had  tied  his  own, 

And,  gently  patting  her  upon  the  head  — 
An  act  of  kindness  she  had  seldom  known  — 

He  led  her  to  the  almost  empty  shed, 
Which  fronted  to  the  south,  and  having  thrown 

A  blanket  over  her,  he  turned  and  said, 
"  Now  you  get  out,  my  lad,"  addressing  Will, 
"  I  think  well  find  it  warmer  in  the  mill." 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  47 

XXI. 

He  took  Will's  hand  and  led  him  to  the  door, 
And  entered  quietly  and  looked  around, 

And  saw  Alfonso  sitting  there  before 

The  fire,  and  seeming  not  to  catch  the  sound 

Of  their  approach ;  but  slowly  humming  o'er, 
In  sweet  content  and  happiness  profound, 

Some  plaintive  snatches  of  an  old  love  strain, 

He  watched  the  hopper  jolting  out  the  grain. 

xxn.  * 

Ren's  eyes  flashed  fire  at  such  a  sight  as  this, 

While  Will  stood  shivering  in  his  kind  embrace  ; 

His  teeth  were  set,  he  was  about  to  hiss 

His  righteous  wrath  into  the  miscreant's  face  ; 

But  fearing  he  should  thereby  nearly  miss 
The  opportunity,  by  God's  good  grace 

Presented  —  as  he  thought  he  could  discern  — 

His  course  assumed  a  more  heroic  turn. 

XXIII. 

There  lay  upon  the  floor  near  where  they  stood, 
A  pile  of  empty  bags,  from  which  he  took 

As  many  as  conveniently  he  could, 

And  wield  them  handily,  and  with  a  look 

Of  strong  determination  such  as  would 
No  fear  or  hesitation  ever  brook, 

He  glided  swiftly  up  behind  the  chair, 

Where  Fon  was  singing  his  pathetic  air. 

XXIV. 

And  swinging  them  aloft,  above  his  head, 

With  strength  of  muscle  and  of  rage  combined, 

His  clumsy  weapon  through  its  circle  sped, 
And  swift  descended,  as  he  had  designed, 


48  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

Upon  his  victim.     There  was  nothing  said, 

Before  the  blow,  and  naught,  as  I  can  find, 
Was  sung  thereafter  of  his  old  love  ditty, 
The  loss  of  which  I  deem  the  greatest  pity. 

xxv. 

Fon  had  received  a  pretty  solid  blow, 
As  in  his  wrath,  Lorenzo  had  intended  ; 

The  weapon  used,  though  awkward,  wielded  so, 
Had  through  the  air  quite  rapidly  descended  ; 

The  straw  hat  which  he  wore  was  driven  low 

Upon  his  face,  till  both  must  needs  be  mended  — 

At  least  the  hat  was  torn,  the  forehead  scratched, 

The  nose  was  bleeding  and  the  skin  detached. 

XXVI. 

"  There,"  muttered  Ren,  "  take  that,  you  ugly  cuss  " — 

And  was  preparing  quickly  to  repeat 
The  blow  ;  but  here  the  miller,  seeing  the  fuss, 

Ran  towards  the  scene,  and  Fon  sprang  to  his  feet, 
And  stood  a  moment,  then  all  tremulous, 

Sank  down  again  in  seemingly  complete 
Exhaustion ;  so  he  deemed  that  he  had  done 
Enough  already ;  and  the  battle  won. 

XXVII. 

But  Fon  recovered  quickly  from  the  shock, 

And  in  a  trice  was  on  his  feet  again, 
And  —  this  time  standing  firmly  as  a  rock  — 

In  anger  and  surprise  said,  "  That  you,  Ren  ?  " 
As  Caesar  did  to  Brutus,  come  to  mock 

His  former  loyalty  and  friendship  ;  then, 
Preparing  to  adopt  a  more  aggressive 
Defence,  as  'twere,  used  language  more  expressive 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  49 

XXVIII. 

Than  complimentary ;  but  here  anon, 
The  miller  interfered  to  keep  the  peace, 

And  learning  of  the  facts,  remarked  to  Fon 
'Twas  lucky  if  he  got  so  cheap  release, 

As  now  to  call  it  even ;  whereupon 
Contention  came  to  gradually  cease, 

Except  the  war  of  words  ('twas  not  logomachy), 

As  venomous  and  bitter  as  nux  vomica. 

XXIX. 

For  Ren  upbraided  him  in  bitter  terms, 
For  his  neglect  and  utter  heartlessness  — 

Which  oftener  than  else,  perhaps,  confirms 

The  selfish  passions,  though  to  make  them  less, 

Was  his  endeavor  ;  to  excite  the  germs 

Of  love  and  kindness ;  and  with  such  success, 

On  this  occasion,  that  he  offered  Will 

A  dime,  while  going  home,  to  keep  it  still. 

xxx. 

George  Hayden  worked  with  Fon  one  summer  when 
About  fifteen,  but  he  had  great  capacity 

For  fighting  ;  and  his  rights,  'gainst  boys  and  men,, 
He  could  defend  with  vigor  and  sagacity  ; 

And  if  oppressed  too  sorely  by  him,  then 

He  would  report  him;  and  for  strict  veracity, 

He  had  a  reputation  such  as  would 

Establish  what  he  said,  for  ill  or  good. 

XXXI. 

Fon  thought  one  autumn  day  when  he  had  dined, 
A  short  post-prandial  nap  would  do  him  good  ; 

At  least  he  felt  so  sleepily  inclined 

To  take  one,  he  determined  that  he  would  ; 


50 


And  so,  to  thoroughly  relieve  his  mind 

Of  all  its  worldly  cares,  and  lest  he  should 
Remain  too  long  within  the  dream-god's  bower, 
He  ordered  George  to  wake  him  in  an  hour. 

XXXII. 

George  knew  that  he'd  been  out  the  night  before, 
And  he  had  asked  permission  to  go  too, 

Which  Fon  refused,  and  vehemently  swore 
If  he  attempted  it  he'd  "  put  him  through  "  — 

And  now,  to  pay  for  this,  or  some  old  score, 
He  thought  'twould  be  a  cunning  thing  to  do, 

To  overdo  his  part,  and  waken  him 

A  little  sooner ;  and,  to  serve  his  whim, 

XXXIII. 

He  went  and  shook  him,  as  he  called  out,  "  Fon  ! " 
Which  had  but  slight  effect.     He  seemed  to  snore 

Less  loudly  for  an  instant,  then  went  on, 
About  the  same  as  he  had  done  before. 

"  Fon  !  Fon  !  "  he  cried,  "  the  time  is  almost  gone, 
For  you  have  now  but  fifteen  minutes  more  ; " 

Which  seemed  to  rouse  him  from  his  sleep,  and  what 

He  said  and  did,  i  know,  although  'tis  not, 

xxxiv. 

Perhaps,  worth  while  to  fully  specify, 
Except  to  say  that  he  was  pretty  mad, 

And  went  for  George,  demanding  fiercely  why 
The naming  one  whose  fame  is  rather  bad  — 

He  didn't  keep  away  and  let  him  lie 
Until  the  time  was  up,  and  he  had  had 

His  full  hour's  sleep.     He  gave  the  order  then, 

Hitch  up  the  team ;  "  and  went  to  sleep  again. 


51 


XXXV. 


George  went  and  hitched  the  horses  to  the  plow, 
Which  Fon  had  held,  and  to  redeem  his  joke, 

He  held  himself,  the  best  that  he  knew  how, 
And  drove  the  team  —  as  gentle  as  a  yoke 

Of  oxen,  treated  well,  as  they  were  now  — 
For  near  another  hour,  when  Fon  awoke, 

And  came  into  the  field ;  and  when  he  saw 

What  George  had  done,  he  simply  said,  "  March  done  !  " 

xxxvi. 

As  Frenchmen  do,  and  seized  the  plow  again, 
And  ordered  George  to  "  put  'em  to  their  paces," 

And  "put  'em  through," — in  seeming  anger  then, 
Without  much  cause,  as  frequently  the  case  is  — 

And,  oft  with  phrases  ending  in  m-n 

(He  didn't  cultivate  the  Christian  graces 

To  any  great  extent),  he  tore  around, 

Till  nearly  night,  then,  rusting  in  the  ground, 

XXXVII. 

He  left  the  plowshare,  and  unhitched  the  team, 
And  took  away  from  George  the  reins  and  whip, 

And  swung  the  latter  in  the  sunset  gleam, 
The  former  o'er  his  neck  for  surer  grip  ;  — 

The  nettled  steeds,  enveloped  in  the  steam 
Of  sweat  and  foam,  again  were  made  to  sip 

The  cup  of  needless  suffering  and  woe, 

Which  brutal  men  so  oft  on  them  bestow. 

XXXVIII. 

O  foul  brutality !  thou  art  the  worst 

Of  all  the  varied  forms  of  passion's  mystery ; 

Thy  cruel  practices  have  ever  cursed 

The  world  since  first  it  had  a  written  history : 


52 

And  doubtless  long  before,  when  man  was  first 

Adjudged  in  righteousness  by  heaven's  consistory, 
Thy  savage  deeds  were  duly  noted  down, 
And  thou  condemned  by  God's  eternal  frown. 

xxxix. 

Thou  art  almost  a  universal  crime  ; 
"  Man's  inhumanity  to  man  "  alone, 
"  Makes  countless  thousands  mourn  "  in  every  clime, 

And  all  the  wide  world  o'er  the  poor  brutes  moan, 
In  needless  wretchedness.     A  pantomime 

Of  deeds  for  which  the  world  cannot  atone, 
Has  been  enacted  through  the  weary  years, 
And  marked  by  brutish  blood  and  human  tears. 

XL. 

I  knew  a  man  whose  lands  were  rich  and  wide, 
And  in  a  cold  northwestern  climate  lay, 

Whose  many  cattle  used  to  breast  the  tide 
Of  dreadful  winter  by  his  stacks  of  hay, 

Unsheltered  from  the  wind,  which  pierced  the  hide, 
And  flesh,  and  bone,  and  marrow,  day  by  day, 

Whose  piteous  lowing  and  whose  plaintive  cry, 

Were  almost  constant  as  I  passed  them  by. 

XLI. 

The  brutes  at  length  succumbed  to  nature's  law, 
Their  owner,  long  since  dead,  received  his  meed, 

For  want  came  first,  to  ravenously  gnaw 

His  shrivelled  flesh ;  his  substance  gone  to  feed 

A  wealthy  usurer's  capacious  maw, 

A  modern  Shylock's  most  insatiate  greed  — 

More  cruel  than  the  winds  and  bitter  cold  — 

Which  vainly  seeks  to  quench  the  thirst  for  gold. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  53 

XLII. 

I've  seen  a  Christian  kneel  and  heard  him  say, 
"  O  Lord,  we  thank  thee  for  our  daily  bread ; " 
While  in  his  stable,  thirty  yards  away, 

There  stood  a  horse  that  just  as  plainly  said, 
"  O  pious  master,  give  to  me  I  pray, 

Some  hay  and  oats ;  "  but  he  received  instead, 
The  galling  collar  and  the  cruel  goad, 
Until  he  fell  exhausted  at  his  load. 

XLIII. 

I  heard  a  woman  say  —  a  preacher's  wife  — 

That  where  she  came  from  they  had  "  lots  of  fun," 

By  getting  up  a  "  very  unique  "  strife  — 
By  putting  "  scarecrow  horses  "  on  a  run, 

At  county  fairs  —  they  having  "  scarcely  life 
Enough  to  get  there  "  —  when  the  setting  sun 

Looked  on  a  scene  of  great  barbarity, 

Which  people  loved  apparently  to  see. 

XLIV. 

Well,  "  there  must  be  an  end  to  all  careers," 

Especially  to  those  which  sadly  lack 
Intelligence  and  virtue ;  as  appears 

From  what  occurred  when  "  the  old  man  "  got  back, 
As  this  Alphonso  called  in  early  years, 

His  honored  sire.     He  seemed  to  have  the  knack 
Of  being  disrespectful  to  superiors, 
Besides  his  great  oppression  of  inferiors. 

XLV. 

While  thus  he  drove  the  horses  to  the  barn, 
George  following  behind  and  looking  on, 

Half  angry  with  himself,  and  saying,  "  Darn 
A  fellow  that  will  be  as  mean  as  Fon  "  — 


54 

Without  a  premonition  sent  to  warn 

Of  danger  from  his  father,  who'd  been  gone, 
That  personage  appeared  upon  the  scene, 
In  time  to  see  what  Fon  designed  to  screen 

XLVI. 

From  observation  of  the  parent's  eye  — 
For  he  supposed  that  he  was  still  away  — 

By  telling  George  to  rub  the  horses  dry, 

And  put  them  in  their  stalls,  and  give  them  hay. 

The  father  was  expected  late,  and  why 
He'd  come  so  soon,  Alphonso  couldn't  say, 

But  when  he  saw  him,  did  the  best  he  might, 

To  get  into  the  stable,  out  of  sight. 

XLVII. 

He  knew  from  his  experience  before, 

The  many  faults  a  parent's  love  condones, 

But  now  his  father,  rushing  to  the  door, 

Exclaimed,  "What  means  all  this?  "in  thunder  tones ; 

Which  startled  and  surprised  him  vastly  more 
Than  thunder  would.     He  shivered  in  his  bones ; 

For  well  he  knew  there  was  sufficient  cause 

For  great  displeasure,  if  there  ever  was. 

XL  VIII. 

He  hesitated,  stammered,  tried  to  calm 
The  horses  down  by  gently  saying  whoa, 

And  wiped  the  foam  from  off  them  with  the  palm 
Of  either  hand,  endeavoring  to  show 

A  seeming  kindness,  which  should  be  a  balm 
For  righteous  anger,  though  he  didn't  know 

Exactly  what  to  do  or  what  to  say  ; 

But  said  the  horses  "  tried  to  run  away." 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  55 

XLIX. 

The  father  called  to  George,  who  stood  just  through 

The  door  between  the  stable  and  the  shed, 
"  Have  you  been  driving  in  the  same  way  too, 
And  did  the  horses  try  to  run  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Yes,"  answered  George,  "they  tried  to  run,  'tis  true, 

But  they  were  only  jumpin'  round,  instead ; 
They  \vould  have  run,  for  when  he  licked  'em  so, 
They  couldn't  help  it  if  he'd  let  'em  go." 


The  father  questioned  further  in  the  case, 
And  listened  patiently  to  such  replies 

As  either  made,  whereon  to  fairly  base 

A  judgment  that  should  be  both  just  and  wise ; 

Then  looked  Alphonso  sternly  in  the  face, 

And  said,  with  husky  voice  and  moistened  eyes, 

While  Fon  looked  silently  upon  the  floor, 
"  You  needn't  drive  my  horses  any  more. 

LI. 

"'Twill  be  six  months  before  you're  one-and- twenty, 
And  even  then  you  needn't  go  away, 

But  of-  your  services  I've  had  a  plenty ; 

Your  time  is  yours,  arid  you  can  go  or  stay." 

He  said  it  firmly,  quite  as  if  he  meant  he 

Should  understand  'twas  not  mere  children's  play, 

Then  said  to  George,  "  You  help  me  and  we'll  try 

If  we  can  get  these  horses  clean  and  dry." 

LII. 

O  tyranny  of  kings !  the  earth  has  groaned 
Beneath  thy  sway  for  many  thousand  years ; 

And  every  nation  which  thy  power  has  owned, 
Has  paid  the  forfeit  with  a  nation's  tears  ; 


56 


Until  advancing  freedom  has  dethroned 

The  sceptred  tyrant,  sounding  in  his  ears, 
The  knell  of  power  —  the  doom  to  which  he  must 
At  length  succumb — which  Heaven  pronounces  just. 

LIII. 

And  thou,  the  tyranny  of  human  vice ! 

More  terrible  than  that  which  priest  or  king 
Has  ever  exercised.     Thou  dost  entice 

Thy  subjects  by  false  promises,  to  bring 
Allegiance  to  thy  crown.     The  fearful  price 

Which  they  must  pay  therefor,  includes  the  sting 
Of  wounded  conscience,  and  the  breaking  down 
Of  manhood,  and  the  loss  of  fair  renown. 

LIV. 

Alphonso  went  away,  the  truth  to  tell, 

And  went  from  bad  to  worse ;  and  by  degrees 

His  vices  grew  until  he  helped  to  swell 
The  list  of  drunkards  and  of  debauchees ; 

Though  what,  in  later  years,  his  life  befell, 
I  cannot  say,  his  habits  being  these, 

But  look  for  reformation,  near  or  far, 

By  nature's  methods,  whatsoe'er  they  are, 


WILLOUGHBY'S    WISDOM. 


CANTO  THIRD. 
I. 

About  this  time,  as  weather  prophets  say, 
I  mean  the  ones  who  make  the  almanacs, 

Or  prophesy  therein,  in  such  a  way 

As  (though  their  augury  all  knowledge  lacks) 

To  render  difficult  the  proof  that  they, 

In  their  pretensions,  are  the  merest  quacks  — 

"  Look  out  for  storms  about  this  time,"  the  phrase 

Strung  up  and  down  the  margin  thirty  days. 

n. 

About  this  time,  that  is  to  say,  about 

The  time  Alphonso  came  to  his  majority, 

By  somewhat  prematurely  wiping  out 
The  few  remaining  months  of  a  minority 

Wherein  much  virtue  had  been  put  to  rout  — 
About  this  time,  or  claiming  slight  priority, 

George  Hayden,  fond  of  such  amusements  then, 

Had  found  a  place  to  play  old  sledge  again. 

in. 

There  lived  in  their  immediate  neighborhood, 
A  married  couple  of  young  people  who 

Were  fond  of  games ;  and  who,  whene'er  they  could, 
Invited  others  in  that  liked  them  too  : 

57 


58  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

And  George  and  Will,  who  partly  understood 

The  game  they  played  the  most,  were  often,  through 
Politeness  or  convenience,  asked  to  come, 
And  take  a  hand,  and  thus  were  playing  some. 

IV. 

I  say  young  people,  they  were  thirty,  more 
Or  less,  their  manners  being  rather  free 

And  easy.     Though  respectable,  they  wore 
Their  moral  garments  with  some  slight  degree 

Of  comfort  in  the  fit.     He  sometimes  swore, 
In  mild  and  moderate  phrase,  and  even  she, 

Though  kind  and  neighborly,  was  less  refined 

Than  we  would  like  to  see  all  humankind. 

v. 

But  Mrs.  Smith  —  I  like  the  name  of  Smith  ; 

Some  people  like  a  thing  because  it's  odd  ; 
And  some  have  even  worshipped  but  a  myth, 

By  some  queer  name,  believing  it  a  god. 
Smith  isn't  odd,  but  rather  claims  its  kith 

And  kin  'mong  all  mankind  ;  and  gives  its  nod 
Of  recognition,  at  the  least  among 
All  nations  of  the  English-speaking  tongue. 

VI. 

This  Mrs.  Smith,  whose  father  now  was  old, 
Had  made  a  home  for  him,  and  he  was  there. 

His  wife  had  gone  to  where  the  streets  are  gold, 
And  where  celestial  music  fills  the  air. 

And  he  could  not  approve  of  such  a  bold 
And  reckless  innovation,  in  the  glare 

Of  gospel  light,  which  he  interpreted, 

All  mirthful  pleasures  strictly  to  forbid. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  59 


VII. 

And  Uncle  Joe,  as  people  called  him  then, 
Though  deaf,  decrepit  and  enfeebled  so 

He  didn't  mingle  with  his  fellow  men, 
As  he  had  done  in  days  of  long  ago, 

Now  grasped  his  cane  and  took  his  feet  again, 
And  walked  abroad,  to  let  a  neighbor  know 

That  his  two  boys  had  thus  incurred  the  blame 

Of  playing  there  at  this  pernicious  game. 

VIII. 

And  Mr.  Hayden,  ere  he  went  away, 

Politely  thanked  him  for  the  information ; 

As,  having  children,  we  would  do  if  they 
Were  getting  into  mischief,  or  flirtation 

With  some  forbidden  sin,  whose  subtle  sway 
Of  evil  threatened  them  with  ruination  ; 

But  I  should  fear  from  Mr.  Smith's  profanity, 

Much  more  than  from  the  pleasure  or  the  "  vanity  " 

IX. 

Of  playing  seven-up  ;  and  from  the  lack 
Of  culture  and  refinement  on  the  part 

Of  Mrs.  Smith  —  whose  manners  seemed  to  smack 
Of  native  rudeness  rather  than  the  art 

Of  true  politeness  —  more  than  from  a  pack 

Of  cards ;  though  she,  I  think,  was  good  at  heart, 

But  not  well  qualified  to  teach  a  boy, 

By  all  the  means  which  culture  might  employ. 

x. 

The  next  day  after  Uncle  Joe  had  been 

To  visit  Mr.  Hayden  with  design 
Of  telling  him  the  news,  as  Will  came  in 

From  playing  ball — which  stood  in  moral  line  — 


60 

He  found  his  mother  ready  to  begin 

A  lecture,  which  he  couldn't  well  decline 
To  listen  to,  without  a  violation 
Of  what  he  deemed  was  filial  obligation. 

\ 

XI. 

She  said  she'd  heard  some  news  about  him  which 

Was  very  bad,  provided  it  were  true  ; 
And  in  the  story  there  was  scarce  a  niche, 

Wherein  to  place  a  doubt.     "  I  hear  that  you 
And  George,"  she  said  —  and  here  she  dropped  a  stitch, 

As  she  was  taking  hastily  a  few, 
To  where  the  knitting  also  might  be  dropped, 
The  "  middle  of  the  needle,"  where  she  stopped. 

XII. 

"  I  hear  that  you  and  George,"  continued  she, 
"  While  up  at  Mr.  Smith's  the  other  night, 
Were  playing  cards ;  which  quite  surprises  me, 

As  you've  been  taught  that  playing  isn't  right, 
Although  'tis  true  that  they  might  not  agree 

With  us  and  with  our  teaching,  which  is  quite 
As  worthy  though,  of  your  consideration, 
As  that  of  people  who  have  no  relation 

XIII. 

"  With  church  or  Sunday  school,  and  who  are  not 
•~*  Converted  to  the  righteous  law  of  God ; 
And  never  had  experience  in  what 

The  Christian  knows  so  well,  who  long  has  trod 
The  '  narrow  way '  which  every  person  ought 

To  walk  in,  rather  than  the  one  so  broad, 
And  crowded  with  the  many  who,  therein, 
Are  boon  companions  in  the  ways  of  sin." 


61 


XIV. 

Will  now  was  twelve,  or  «  going  on  thirteen," 

And  though  he  had  no  strictly  moral  ground, 
Whereon  to  make  defence  against  the  keen 

Assaults  of  wisdom,  more  or  less  profound, 
He'd  come  to  entertain,  from  what  he'd  seen, 

Of  human  nature  and  of  "  things  around," 
A  feeling  that  his  mother  was  in  error, 

In  vesting  simple  games  with  such  a  terror. 

xv. 

He  made  no  very  subtle  argument, 

Nor  any  effort  to  conceal  the  fact  : 
He  simply  said  he  had  no  wrong  intent, 

In  doing  what  appeared  a  harmless  act, 
That  when  he  went  to  Mr.  Smith's,  he  went 

Because  George  did ;  and  played  because  they  lacked, 
By  one,  the  number  it  required  to  play ; 
And  when  the  game  was  ended,  came  away. 

XVI. 

"  But  this,"  observed  his  mother,  "  isn't  all, 
For  Uncle  Joe  went  on  to  say  that  when 

The  Smiths  received  from  you  and  George,  a  call, 
George  took  the  cards  from  his  own  pocket ;  then, 

As  unconcerned  as  you'd  bring  in  your  ball, 
When  you  were  through,  he  put  them  in  again, 

As  being  his.     Now  is  it  true  that  he 

Would  buy  such  things,  all  unbeknown  to  me  ?  " 

XVII. 

Will  hesitated  slightly,  then  replied, 
"  He'd  have  to  buy  'em  when  you  didn't  know 
About  it  if  he  bought  'em,  and  to  hide 
'Em  somewhere  when  he  didn't  want  'em,  so 


62  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

You  wouldn't  make  a  fuss ;  and  so  he  tried 
To  keep  it  still ;  and  would  if  Uncle  Joe 
Had  staid  at  home  and  'tended  to  his  own 
Affairs,  and  let  the*  rest  of  us  alone." 

XVIII. 

The  anxious  mother  queried  further  still, 
As  some  particulars  were  yet  in  doubt ; 

Asked  how  they  learned  the  game,  and  played  it  till 
It  had  so  unexpectedly  leaked  out ; 

And  said,  continuing,  "  Now  tell  me,  Will, 
How  such  a  thing  should  ever  come  about, 

That  George  should  own  the  cards.     Where  did  he  buy 

Them,  where  thus  keep  them  hid  away  so  sly ? " 

XIX. 

"  I  s'pose,"  said  Will,  "  he  kept  'em  in  his  chest, 
Or  somewhere  round  up  stairs,  where  he  could  find 

'Em  any  time  "  —  not  deeming  it  were  best 
To  be  explicit,  but  to  rather  blind 

His  mother's  eyes,  lest  she  should  be  in  quest 
Of  them  as  contraband,  and  be  inclined 

To  burn  them  up,  or  put  them  where  they  might 

Be  difficult  to  find  another  night. 

xx. 

And  also  with  the  hope  to  thus  evade 

The  other  question  she  had  asked  him,  who 

George  had  them  of ;  which  doubtless  would  have  made 
The  greatest  difficulty  of  the  two, 

If  it  were  answered  fairly  ;  so  he  paid 
But  little  heed  to  that,  except  to  do 

His  utmost  to  prevent  its  further  mention, 

By  otherwise  diverting  her  attention. 


WISDOM.  63 


XXI. 


And  he  in  this,  succeeded  very  well ; 

The  question  wasn't  then  repeated ;  so 
He  didn't  have  to  answer  it,  or  tell 

Of  whom  were  bought  the  ugly  chattels,  though 
He  knew  just  where  the  whole  transaction  fell, 

But  much  preferred  his  mother  shouldn't  know ; 
And  so  he  went,  with  filial  love  sincere, 
And  kissed  her  cheek,  whereon  remained  a  tear. 

xxn. 

George  then  was  serving  out  —  no,  that  would  be 

A  violation  of  the  etiquette, 
Which  treated  all  as  seeming  equals ;  he 

Was  working  out,  as  is  the  wording  yet, 
In  this  old  commonwealth,  where  all  are  free, 

In  fact,  "  where  freedom's  star  has  never  set," 
It  being  after  young  Alphonso  left, 
Of  his  good  name  and  legacy  bereft. 

XXIII. 

And  George  was  there,  some  eighty  rods  away, 
And  coming  home  that  night,  was  notified 

That  some  important  accusations  lay 

Against  him  ;  and  the  case  would  then  be  tried. 

Of  course  they'd  ask  him  what  he  had  to  say, 
And  if  he  pleaded  guilty,  woe  betide, 

If  not,  sufficient  proof  was,  pro  and  con, 

Already  taken  to  convict  him  on. 

XXIV. 

The  father  was  the  formidable  judge, 
And  jury,  witness  and  attorney;  and 

With  moral  stamina  that  wouldn't  budge 
An  inch  from  justice,  took  the  case  in  hand. 


64  TVILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

He  showed  no  anger,  prejudice  or  grudge, 

And  yet  the  "  criminal "  could  understand 
That  'twas  in  sober  earnest,  though  for  what 
He'd  been  indicted,  he  as  yet  could  not. 

xxv. 

Said  Mr.  Hayden,  "  Sir,  I  hear  that  you 

Are  owner  of  a  pack  of  cards.     If  so, 
Go  bring  them  here,  that  we  may  have  a  view 

Of  Satan's  pictured  implements,  and  know 
Just  what  we  have  to  fight  against."  George  drew 

The  cards  from  out  his  pocket ;  which,  although 
He  had  demanded  them,  with  some  surprise, 

The  father  saw  produced  before  his  eyes. 

XXVI. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?  "  next  demanded  he, 
"  And  when,"  he  also  asked,  "  did  you  begin 
To  play  with  them,  without  consulting  me  ; 

Without  your  mother's  knowing  what  was  in 
Your  head  or  in  your  pocket  ?     Haven't  we 

Advised  you  constantly  against  the  sin 
Of  playing  wicked  games,  the  danger  too, 
Of  being  ruined  by  them  ere  you're  through  ?  " 

XXVII. 

"  I  haven't  played  but  little,"  George  replied, 
"  I  bought  the  cards  in  trading  with  a  boy, 
In  swapping  knives  and  two  three  things  beside, 

He  threw  them  in,  because  they  might  annoy  "  — 
"  Who  was  the  boy  ?  "  the  father  fiercely  cried, 

"  Who  was  it  thus  all  virtue  would  destroy  ?  " 
"  They  might  annoy  his  "  —  "  Who  ?  "  he  thundered  still, 
"  Who  was  the  boy  you  traded  with  ?  "— " '  Twas  Witt." 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  65 

XXVIII. 

O  sinful  pleasure !  thou  hast  held  thy  sway, 
O'er  human  hearts,  and  often  hast  laid  waste 

The  fairest  temples  ever  made  of  clay, 

Since  Eve  and  Adam,  upright,  pure  and  chaste, 

First  welcomed  thee.    Let's  see,  what  did  they  say  ? 
'Twas  "  good  for  food,"  and  pleasant  to  the  taste  — 

Or  rather  it  was  "  pleasant  to  the  eyes," 

And  was  "  to  be  desired  to  make  them  wise." 

XXIX. 

It  has  been  said  thy  votaries  are  fools ; 

That  "  he  that  loveth  pleasiire  shall  be  poor ;  n 
And  here  are  two  lads  trading  in  the  tools 

Of  pleasure's  workshop  ;  but  the  next  detour 
May  see  them  sit  in  sorrow  on  the  stools 

Of  penance ;  whereon  every  great  wrong  doer 
Must  sooner  sit  or  later,  ere  his  sin 
Be  blotted  out  and  happiness  begin. 

xxx. 

Now  here  was  what  might  well  be  deemed  a  fix, 
Especially  for  Will,  whom  George  had  tried, 

By  silence  and  evasion,  not  to  mix 

With  his  shortcomings  when  he  had  replied, 

Until  his  father  had  so  trumped  his  tricks, 
That  he,  unless  he  positively  lied, 

At  length  had  been  compelled  to  own  that  they 

Had  trafficked  some  in  that  forbidden  way. 

XXXI. 

The  case  was  tried,  the  verdict  duly  rendered, 
By  full  confessions  made  by  the  accused  ; 

Some  little  bitterness  had  been  engendered, 
By  ugly  facts  and  by  the  methods  used 


GO  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

To  find  them.     George  was  generously  tendered 

His  choice  —  whereat  he  felt  somewhat  confused  — 
Between  "  a  whipping"  and  the  confiscation 
Of  all  the  cards,  with  promised  reformation. 

XXXII. 

He  would  quite  willingly  have  sacrificed 
The  pack  of  cards,  an  old  pack  any  way, 

But  such  a  promise  as  he  was  advised 

To  make,  and  pledge  himself  he  wouldn't  play, 

Was  one  which,  as  he  reasoned,  compromised 
Too  much  of  freedom  at  a  future  day;  — 

And  being  whipped,  as  cannot  be  denied, 

If  not  unjust,  would  be  undignified. 

xxxm. 

"  Well,  there's  the  cards,"  he  said,  "  and  you  can  do 
Just  what  you  like  with  them,  and  "  —  here  was  heard 

A  loud  rap  on  the  door ;  and  guessing  who 
'Twas  given  by,  wherein  he  hadn't  erred — 

Although  he  didn't  guess  the  business  too, 

Whereon  he  came  —  the  father  gave  ike  word, 

"  Come  in,"  and  Deacon  Alden  swung  the  door, 

And  was  surprised  at  what  he  stood  before. 

xxxiv. 

For  Mr.  Hayden  still  was  sitting  by 

The  table  which  the  cards  were  lying  on, 

And  George  was  sitting  opposite  ;  his  eye, 

The  deacon  thought,  with  seeming  gladness  shone  ; 

While  Mrs.  H.  and  Will,  a  little  shy, 

(It  might  be  so)  had  just  got  up  and  gone  ; 

As  if  they'd  recently  been  playing  there, 

A  sort  of  private,  family  affair. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  67 

xxxv. 

The  deacon,  when  he  entered,  also  had, 
Along  with  him,  two  other  persons  who, 

Or  one  of  whom,  was  feeling  rather  bad, 
About  some  late  mishap.     The  other  too, 

Though  less  unfortunate,  was  looking  sad, 

And  wondering  what  the  deacon  meant  to  do  : 

The  one  was  Nathan  and  the  other  Tim  — 

Tun  Turner  —  and  the  others  met  with  him, 

xxxvi. 

But  just  outside  the  door ;  for  he  had  come, 
As  by  his  mother's  leave,  to  stay  with  Will, 

That  night,  he  being  Will's  familiar  chum, 
A  place  he  seemed  well  qualified  to  fill, 

Their  friendship  being  constant,  saving  some 
Slight  disagreements,  such  as  children  still  — 

Some  older  people  too,  I  grieve  to  say  — 

Are  troubled  with,  in  that  same  childish  way. 

XXXVII* 

And  meeting  Nathan  as  they  neared  the  house, 
.  Nate  told  him  in  a  whisper  by  the  door,    . 
His  father  had  come  up,  "  as  still's  a  mouse," 

And  caught  them  "  playin'  jacks"  the  night  before. 
He  grabbed  the  cards  and  said  he'd  bet  a  grouse 

They  wouldn't  play  with  that  pack  any  more, 
And  when  he  told  him  George  and  Will  played  too, 
He  said,  "  We'll  see  to-morrow  if  they  do." 

XXXVIII. 

And  there  they  were ;  and  when  the  deacon  saw 
The  cards  upon  the  table  lying  there, 

It  so  surprised  him  he  could  scarcely  draw 
His  breath  for  half  a  minute.     "  I  declare  !  " 


68 

Said  he,  "  Have  you  amended  Heaven's  law, 
Or  have  you  broken  it ;  or  do  things  wear 
A  false  appearance  ?     Tell  me  which  or  what ; 
Have  you  been  playing  cards,  or  have  you  not  ? " 

XXXIX. 

"  No,  Deacon,"  Mr.  Hayden  answered,  "  no, 
We've  not  been  playing,  I  at  least  have  not, 

Nor  have  I  ever  taught  my  children  so, 

But  George  and  Will  have  somehow,  lately,  got 

Bewitched  with  them,  and  have  been  led  to  go 

Where  people  play ;  and  they've  played  too,  and  what 

Were  right  and  best,  in  such  a  case,  to  do, 

I  was  debating ;  but  was  nearly  through, 


XL. 


"  When  you  came  in.     Now  what  if  your  boy  here, 
Not  quite  as  old  as  George,  had  done  the  same, 

And  if,  on  questioning,  it  should  appear 

The  cards  were  his,  and"  —  "That's  just  what  I  came 

For,"  here  broke  in  the  deacon,  "  and  I  fear 

My  boy  than  yours  is  not  much  less  to  blame  — 

To  ask' of  you  the  question  you  ask  me ; 

And  tell  you  what  I  found  last  evening ;  see  !  " 


XLI. 


And  thereupon,  with  looks  a  little  sad, 

He  drew  another  pack  from  out  his  pocket, 

And  laid  it  down.     Tim  whispered,  "  That's  too  bad." 
And  Mr.  Hayden's  face  expressed  the  shock  it 

Produced  upon  him  when  he  saw  they  had 
Another  case  for  trial  on  the  docket ; 

With  the  respondent  waiting  at  the  bar 

Of  justice,  as  all  human  beings  are. 


69 


XLII. 

Not  many  questions  did  they  ask  of  Nate, 
The  deacon  told  the  story,  how  he  found 

Him  in  his  room  up  stairs,  a  little  late, 
The  night  before,  attracted  by  the  sound 

Of  undertones,  which  showed  he  had  a  mate, 
And  as  he  knew  another  boy  was  round, 

A  little  earlier,  but  thought  he'd  gone, 

He  went  to  his  apartment,  whereupon, 

XLIII. 

He  found  them  both.     The  other  boy  and  he, 
Were  busy  playing  there  at  high-low-jack ; 

A  sorry  sight  it  grieved  his  heart  to  see, 
To  discontinue  which,  he  seized  the  pack ; 

And  now  had  come  to  see  what  course  should  be 
Pursued  concerning  those  who  seemed  to  lack 

Appreciation  of  the  teaching  they 

Had  been  accustomed  to  from  day  to  day. 

XLIV. 

As  all  the  facts  had  now  been*  laid  before 

Them,  it  remained  to  say  what  should  be  done ; 

And  Mr.  Hayden,  much  in  earnest,  wore 
A  solemn  look,  as  when  he  had  begun ; 

But  by  and  by  there  suddenly  came  o'er 

The  deacon's  face  a  somewhat  different  one  ; 

A  sort  of  twinkle  of  the  eye,  in  fact, 

As  if  he  had  a  thought  the  other  lacked. 

XLV. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  neighbor,"  he  remarked,  «  what  we 
May  safely  do  with  these  two  packs  of  cards ; 

Let's  play  a  game,  two  handed,  you  and  me, 
Or  play  four-handed,  you  and  I  be  <•  pards,' 


70 


'Gainst  George  and  Nathan.     Will  and  Tim  can  be 

A  sort  of  umpires,  referees,  or  guards, 
To  see  fair  play ;  and  when  the  game  is  done, 
All  say  that  this  shall  be  the  final  one. 

XL  VI. 

"  Come,"  he  continued,  with  a  sturdy  grace, 

Removing  from  the  table  to  the  fire, 
And  sitting  down,  "  come,  here's  a  handy  place, 

Where  none  need  take  the  trouble  to  inquire 
Who  played  the  highest  card,  as  even  the  ace 

Will  save  no  trick,  but  find  its  funeral  pyre, 
Here  on  the  hearth ;  and  Heaven  grant  that  we, 
No  fiercer  flames  than  these,  may  ever  see." 

XL  VII. 

'Twill  be  remembered  George  was  broken  in 
Upon  in  his  reply  concerning  whether 

He  would  consent  to  sacrifice  the  sin 

Of  playing  with  them,  and  the  cards  together, 

Or  take  the  consequences  he  had  been 

So  threatened  with,  from  stick  or  strap  of  leather ; 

And  thinking  he'd  accept  the  first  condition, 

His  father  yielded  to  the  proposition 

XL  VIII. 

The  deacon  made ;  and  sitting  down  by  him, 
And  taking  both  the  packs,  began  to  shuffle ; 

For  he  regarded  it  a  harmless  whim, 

And  in  his  temper  there  was  scarce  a  ruffle : 

They  all  maintained  their  gravity  but  Tim, 
And  he  was  civil,  but  he  had  to  muffle 

A  tendency  to  laughter  all  the  while, 

Expressing  only  an  incipient  smile. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  71 


XLIX. 

George  said  he  guessed  he  wouldn't  take  a  part 
In  that  game  if  he  couldn't  play  again ; 

Not  being  well  acquainted  with  the  art, 

He'd  let  the  "  final  game  "  be  played  by  men ; 

Whereby  he  artfully  designed  to  start 
A  false  impression,  to  the  end  that  when 

The  cards  were  gone,  his  father  wouldn't  press 

A  more  decisive  answer,  no  or  yes. 

L. 

Well,  Mr.  Hayden  shuffled,  as  I  said, 

And  dealt  the  cards  by  handing  over  some 

To  his  companion,  when  the  deacon  led, 
By  taking  'twixt  his  fingers  and  his  thumb, 

A  queen  of  hearts,  which  to  the  flames  so  red, 
He  then  consigned,  and  for  all  time  to  come ; 

As  from  the  fervent  heat  and  ruddy  flame, 

Its  former  self  no  power  could  reclaim. 

LI. 

"  Depart  ye  cursed,"  Mr.  Hayden  cried  — 

As  on  the  deacon's  card,  or  after  it, 

He  threw  another  to  the  burning  tide  — 

"  To  everlasting  fire  "  —  in  language  fit 

For  such  occasion  —  "  arid  therein  abide, 

Where  you  no  further  evil  may  commit." 
And  thus  their  game  they  reverently  played, 
Though  even  they  grew  jovial  as  they  made 

LII. 

Some  farther  progress.     All  are  apt  to,  who 
Indulge  in  games,  the  cares  of  life  to  bury, 

In  brief  f orgetfulness,  when  they  are  through  — 
It  is  their  province  thus  to  make  us  merry ; 


72- 


And  why  about  it  make  so  much  ado  ? 

Tis  better  far  than  drinking  hock  and  sherry  — 
And  'tis  a  world  we  must  be  jolly  in, 
At  tunes,  though  full  of  sorrow  and  of  sin. 

LIU. 

I  say  this  as  a  truth,  and  in  defence 

Of  Mr.  Hay  den  and  the  deacon.     They, 

However,  played  but  once,  and  in  a  sense 
Somewhat  Pickwickian,  to  throw  away 

Some  cards  which  had  offended  them ;  and  hence 
Might  not  be  reckoned  players ;  but  I  say 

That  if  they  touched  a  sad  or  humorous  strain, 

They  only  hoped  a  righteous  end  to  gain. 

LIV. 

"  Remember,  Deacon,  that  I've  played  the  ace," 

Said  Mr.  Hayden,  "  which  you  know  is  high  — 
"  And  will  be  higher  soon,  for  I  can  trace 
It  in  the  smoke  ascending  to  the  sky," 
The  deacon  answered,  "  but  you  know  the  race, 

Or  who  has  won  it  fairly,  by  and  by, 
Must  be  determined  by  the  count ;  and  then 
If  you  should  have  the  ace  or  deuce,  or  ten 

LV. 

To  count  for  game,  we'll  reckon  in  a  lump, 
What  each  one  is,  by  what  he  has  to  show ; 

And  if  you've  nothing  then,  you're  up  a  stump, 

And  cannot  claim  the  jack  or  high  or  low ;  —  " 
« It's  your  play,  Deacon,  follow  suit  or  trump," 
Broke  in  the  other,  and  they  seemed  to  know 

Some  little  of  the  nomenclature,  which 

Surprised  the  boys,  each  sitting  in  his  niche, 


73 


LVI. 


And  watching  closely  as  the  game  went  on, 

Until  they  stood,  or  claimed  to  stand,  "  two  and ;" 

But  by  and  by  the  deacon's  cards  were  gone, 
While  Mr.  Hayden  still  had  some  in  hand, 

From  which  at  once  the  other  would  have  "  drawn," 
Until  the  players  should  again  command 

An  equal  number,  as  was  sometimes  done, 

Although  the  rule  was  not  a  legal  one. 

LVII. 

But  Tim  remembered  what  the  deacon  said, 
When  he  devised  the  present  clever  way, 

By  which  the  boys  to  virtue  should  be  led, 

That  he  and  Will  should  see  they  had  fair  play ; 

So  looking  up  and  stretching  up  his  head, 
He  raised  a  point  of  rule  as  follows  :  "  Say, 

You  can't  do  that  way,  as  I  understand, 

You've  made  a  misdeal.     You  must  pack  the  hand." 

LVIII. 

The  deacon  smiled,  although  he  felt  inclined, 
Against  his  umpire's  ruling  to  protest ; 

And  so  he  drew,  as  he  at  first  designed, 
A  card  or  two,  but  Tim  had  had  his  jest, 

As  well  as  they ;  and  that  they  didn't  mind, 

But  couldn?t  "  pack  the  hand,"  so  played  the  rest, 

And  Mr  Hayden  said,  "  We're  two  and  two, 

I  think,  and  guess  for  us  one  hand  will  do." 

IX. 

The  deacon  took  from  out  his  wallet  then, 

Some  silver  coins,  and  said,  "I'll  tell  you  what: 

If  you,  my  lads,  will  now  behave  like  men, 
And  promise  me  that  henceforth  you  will  not 


74 

Possess  a  card,  or  play  with  them  again, 

I'll  give  you  what  they  cost  when  they  were  bought," 
Selecting  what  he  judged  —  two  ninepences  — 
Would  pay  George  for  his  pack,  and  Nate  for  his. 

LX. 

Poor  Nathan  felt  constrained  to  answer  yes, 
And  took  the  cash  his  father  would  bestow ; 

But  I  have  known  a  yes  which  promised  less 
Of  good  achievement  than  an  honest  no  ; 

As  did  the  man  who  would  his  sons  impress, 
To  labor  in  his  vineyard  once.  "  I  go," 

Said  one — but  didn't — when  the  two  were  bid, 

The  other  said  he  wouldn't  go,  but  did. 

LXI. 

• 

George  said,  "  I  thank  you,  but  will  not  accept 
The  money  for  them,  as  the  cards  were  old  — 

Old  when  I  got  them,  for  they  had  been  kept 
Among  the  boys,  and  had  been  bought  and  sold, 

Good  many  times  ; "  wherein  he  overstepped 
The  truth  but  slightly  if  at  all,  but  told 

It  pretty  nearly  as  it  was,  as  Will 

Had  got  them  where  they  had  been  used  until 

LXII. 

The  older  boys  thought  they  would  hardly  do 

For  them  to  deal  and  shuffle  any  more, 
And  so  when,  recently,  one  of  them  who 

Had  owned  them,  got  some  new  ones  at  the  store, 
And  as  he  didn't  need  or  care  for  two, 

Will  bought  them  for  a  trifle,  just  before 
They  went  at  first  to  Mr.  Smith's  and  played, 
And  then  to  George  he  sold  them  in  a  trade. 


WISDOM.  75 

LXIII. 

The  deacon  chatted  for  a  little  while  — 
Perhaps  for  thirty  minutes,  more  or  less  — 

Of  heaven's  mercy  and  of  Satan's  guile, 

But  said  no  more  to  George  to  further  press 

The  subject  of  the  promise.     With  a  smile, 
He  rose  to  go,  and  George  remarked,  "  I  guess 

I'll  go  with  them ;  "  and  .bidden  not,  to  stay, 

By  father  or  by  mother,  went  away. 

LXIV. 

Then  Will  was  questioned  as  to  how  he  came 
To  own  the  cards,  and  when  he  told  them  how, 

'Twas  not  so  damaging  to  his  good  fame, 

As  they  had  thought,  or  feared  at  least,  just  now ; 

And  yet  they  held  that  he  was  much  to  blame, 
For  having  them  at  all ;  and  asked  a  vow 

Of  reformation,  which  he^partly  gave, 

But  managed  so  to  word  it  as  to  save 

LXV. 

His  conscience,  should  he  chance  to  play  again, 

Or  own  another  pack  some  future  day ; 
Although  he  saw  no  likelihood  just  then, 

Of  doing  either,  as  the  fates  said  nay; 
But  he  and  George  would  sometime  both  be  men, 

And  then,  he  thought,  could  have  it  their  own  way ; 
Although  of  what  he  thought  he  nothing  said, 
And  he  and  Tim  then  went  up  stairs  to  bed. 

LXVI. 

And  so  the  matter  dropped,  and  George  and  Will 

Abstained  from  playing  cards  the  winter  through ; 
And  Nathan's  money  he  had  kept  until 

spring  returned,  and  till  his  father,  who 


76 


Had  often  asked  him  if  he  had  it  still, 

Had  somehow  seemingly  forgotten  to 
Repeat  the  question ;  taking  it  for  granted 
That  now  the  cards  were  thoroughly  supplanted. 

LXVII. 

But  in  the  spring  a  peddler  came  along, 
And  overtaking  Nate  upon  the  way, 

He  asked  the  boy  to  ride ;  nor  deemed  it  wrong, 
To  ask  him  further  if  he  didn't  play 

At  games  of  cards.     "  I'll  sell  you  for  a  song," 

He  patronizingly  went  on  to  say, 
"  This  nice  new  set  for  playing  high-low-jack ;  " 

As,  saying  which,  he  handed  him  the  pack. 

LXVIII. 

The  cards  were  new,  but  rather  thin  and  light, 
A  fact  which  Nate,  however,  didn't  see. 

He  was  debating  whether  now  he  might 
Become  their  owner,  if  they  could  agree 

Upon  the  price.     He  knew  it  wasn't  quite 
The  proper  thing  to  do,  nor  would  it  be 

A  safe  procedure,  under  circumstances 

So  full  of  danger,  thus  to  take  the  chances 

LXIX. 

Of  being  known  to  have  the  cards  again, 

Or  short  in  his  accounts.     His  "  cash  in  hand  " 

Would  not  hold  out  if  he  invested  then 
To  the  amount  the  other  would  demand, 

And  yet  like  other  boys,  and  many  men, 
In  such  positions,  he  could  not  withstand 

The  sore  temptation,  and  he  asked  the  price, 

Unmindful  of  his  father's  sage  advice. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  77 

«  LXX. 

O  broken  promise  !  if  thou  hadst  been  kept, 
In  every  case  wherein  thou  hast  been  broken, 

How  much  less  frequently  had  maiden  wept, 

Or  parent  mourned ;  for  thou  hast  been  the  token 

Of  every  vice,  while  every  virtue  slept, 

Although  thy  words  had  been  sincerely  spoken ; 

Or  more  or  less  so  at  the  least,  as  when 

Nate  promised  he  would  not  play  cards  again. 

LXXI. 

O  breach  of  trust !  how  oft  hast  thou  betrayed 
The  misplaced  confidence  of  guileless  men, 

Who  have  their  treasures  indiscreetly  laid 
In  places  whence  they've  not  returned  again. 

Some  well-known  spendthrift  often  has  been  made 
A  corporation  treasurer,  and  then, 

When  he  some  cunning  method  has  devised, 

By  which  to  swindle  them,  men  seem  surprised. 

LXXII. 

The  peddler  said,  "  I'm  selling  such  as  these, 
For  twenty  cents,  but  if  you  wish  for  one, 

As  you're  a  boy  —  I  always  like  to  please 
The  little  folks  —  and  seeing  we've  begun 

To  make  a  trade,  we'll  change  the  fives  to  threes, 
And  call  it  but  a  ninepence  when  we're  done ; 

Or  if  you  take  two  packs,  we'll  call  them  then 

But  twenty  cents  for  two  —  each  of  them  ten ." 

LXXIII. 

They'd  reached  the  place  where  George  was  living  still  - 
At  Mr.  Rollins',  where  he'd  worked  before  — • 

And  he'd  been  so  promoted  as  to  fill 

The  place  of  foreman,  held  by  Fon  of  yore, 


78 


Who  now  was  roaming  at  his  own  sweet  will, 

And  didn't  "  plow  and  harrow  any  more," 
He  said,  but  then  he  sowed  "  wild  oats  "  instead, 
And  spent  his  money  for  what  wasn't  bread. 

LXXIV. 

And  Nate  proposed  that  he  and  George  should  buy 
The  two,  so  they  could  have  each  of  them  one  ; 

But  George  could  see  some  weighty  reasons  why 
They  shouldn't  do  it ;  and  he  meant  to  shun 

The  danger  such  a  purchase  would  imply, 

Because  he  feared  some  mischief  might  be  done, 

If  they  should  make  a  movement  of  the  kind, 

And  so  the  proposition  he  declined. 

LXXV. 

And  he  reminded  Nate  that  he  had  been 
Induced  to  promise  that  he  wouldn't  play, 

And  also  that  the  cards  were  very  thin, 
And  "  hardly  worth  a  f  o'  pence  any  way ;  " 

If  he  should  buy  them  he'd  get  taken  in  — 
And  find,  perhaps,  the  dickens  was  to  pay, 

Before  he  knew  it,  as  his  father  might 

Get  hold  of  them  and  him  some  other  night. 

LXXVI. 

"  Well,  well,  my  lad,"  the  peddler  said  to  Nate, 
"  Your  purpose  this  young  man  shall  not  defeat ; 

For  you  shall  have  a  pack  at  any  rate, 

And  have  them  for  the  same,  which  can't  be  beat 

They're  worth  as  much,  I  do  not  hesitate 

To  say  —  this  single  pack,  all  clean  and  neat  — 

As  I  had  asked  you  for  the  two,  and  yet 

A  dime  makes  you  the  owner  of  the  set." 


79 


LXXVII. 

«  All  right,"  said  Nate,  « I  guess  if  you'll  agree 
To  never  say  a  word,  I'll  take  'em  whuther 

George  does  or  not."  "  You  never  fear  for  me, 
I'll  keep  as  whist  as  a  masonic  brother," 

He  said,  and  then  the  very  coin  which  he 
Received  as  compensation  for  the  other, 

Nate  handed  him  in  payment  for  the  pack, 

Receiving  for  his  change,  two  pennies  back. 

LXXVIII. 

The  peddler  started  off,  and  Nate  said  no, 
When  asked  if  he'd  get  on  the  cart  again, 

He  wasn't  far  from  home,  and  wouldn't  go 
The  balance  of  the  way,  he  guessed,  just  then, 

He'd  stay  with  George  a  little  while,  and  so 
He  held  the  plow  for  several  furrows,  when, 

As  George  proposed  to  let  the  horses  stand, 

Nate  asked  him  if  he'd  like  to  "  try  a  hand." 

LXXIX. 

Said  George,  "  You  promised,  if  I  recollect, 
You  wouldn't  buy  or  play  ;  but  now  I  take  it 

That  you've  concluded  'twould  be  quite  correct, 

No  matter  what  your  promise  was,  to  break  it." 
"Who  cares?"  said  Nate,  "for  how  could  he  expect 
I'd  keep  the  promise  when  I  had  to  make  it  ?  " 

And  it  must  be  conceded  such  a  flaw 

In  the  agreement  might  be  held  in  law, 

LXXX. 

To  be  sufficient  to  obliterate 

The  obligation.    George  could  hardly  say 
But  this  new  argument,  thus  raised  by  Nate, 

Had  partially  confirmed  his  right  to  play. 


80  WILLOTJGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

At  any  rate  they  didn't  longer  wait, 

For  further  questioning,  but  right  away, 
As  if  they  were  exempt  from  moral  blame, 
Sat  on  the  plow  beam  and  commenced  a  game. 

LXXXT. 

Meanwhile  the  peddler  drove  before  the  door, 
At  Deacon  Alden's,  where  he  stopped  to  trade  ; 

And  wanting  something  she  had  not  in  store, 
The  deacon's  wife  some  little  purchase  made  ; 

And  he  himself  came  in  the  house  before 

'Twas  done,  at  least  before  the  bill  was  paid, 

And  handed  out  a  dollar  to  the  man, 

Who  drew  from  out  his  pocket,  and  began 

LXXXII. 

To  count  therefrom,  a  handful  of  small  change ; 

And  looking  on,  the  deacon  chanced  to  see 
A  ninepence  which  he  thought  a  little  strange 

Of  finding  there,  for  he  was  sure  that  he 
Remembered  it ;  and  wished  he  might  arrange 

To  get  it ;  and  it  happened  so  to  be, 
That,  making  change,  the  trader  gave  him  that, 
Which  holding  fast  and  looking  closely  at, 

LXXXIII. 

He  asked  the  peddler,  "  Can  you  tell  me  where 
You  got  this  coin  ?  "  and  then  it  flashed  across 

The  other's  mind.     "  Well,  really,  I  declare," 
He  blandly  said,  "  I'm  no  less  at  a  loss 

To  know  than  you  ;  in  fact,  I  never  care 
For  that,  I  see  if  it  is  good,  and  toss 

It  in  among  the  rest,  then  as  before, 

I  go  and  see  if  I  can  get  some  more." 


81 


LXXXIV. 

The  deacon  asked  him  further,  if  he'd  seen, 

Within  a  mile  or  so  of  there,  a  lad ; 
A  stout  built  fellow  of  about  fourteen : 

The  peddler  answered  promptly  that  he  had ; 
"  In  fact,"  he  said,  "  if  there  is  naught  between, 

I  think  I'll  show  him  to  you.     Was  he  clad 
In  suit  of  kersey  gray  ?  "     The  deacon  said 
He  was,  and  wore  a  cloth  cap  on  his  head. 

LXXXV. 

Then  from  a  little  peddler's  trunk  of  tin, 
He  drew  a  glass,  of  modest  form  and  size  — 

Not  such  as  men  hold  'twix  the  nose  and  chin, 
An  opera  glass  —  and  held  it  to  his  eyes ; 

And  looking  south,  he  saw  what  would  have  beenr 
To  Deacon  Alden's  sight,  a  sad  surprise  ; 

For  there  they  were,  still  sitting  on  the  beam, 

And  playing  high-low-jack  to  rest  the  team., 

LXXXVI. 

He  looked  some  time,  as  if  he  hadn't  found 
Just  where  they  were,  debating  what  to  do ; 

The  deacon  also  sharply  looked  around, 

And  with  the  naked  eye  could  see  them  too  ; 

Could  see  at  least,  a  black  speck  on  the  ground  — 
Not  what  the  peddler  could  when  looking  through 

The  glass  —  nor  did  the  latter  want  he  should, 

And  would  prevent  it  somehow,  if  he  could. 

LXXXVII. 

So  he  began  to  talk  about  the  glass, 

Invented  by  Rinaldo,  as  he  said, 
Long  years  ago,  through  which  to  see,  alas  ! 

What  human  eyes  should  have  beheld  with  dread  ; 


82 

What  constituted  then  a  numerous  class 

Of  cruel  "  sports,"  now  fortunately  dead  ; 
Or  mainly  so  at  least,  except  in  some 
More  savage  climes,  where  conscience  still  is  dumb. 

LXXXVIII. 

"  "Tis  not  so  indispensable,  'tis  true, 

As  are  the  spectacles,"  continued  he, 
"  Which  people  wear  when  old,  or  when,  like  you, 

Beginning  to  grow  old,  as  all  must  be  : 
The  Scripture  says,  *  The  days  of  man  are  few  — 

The  deacon  interrupted,  "  Let  me  see." 
"  Oh  yes  sir,"  said  the  other,  "  I  will  show 

You  where  they  are,  I  think  you'll  see  them,  though 

LXXXIX. 

Some  smoke  has  gathered  in  the  atmosphere  " 
(O  would  some  friendly  mantle  always  cloak  us 

Whene'er  our  sins  are  likely  to  appear, 

Or  they  be  cancelled  by  some  hocus-pocus); 
"  The  glass,  you'll  see,  will  bring  them  pretty  near  —  " 
But  handing  it,  he  turned  it  out  of  focus ; 

And  in  this  unknown,  unsuspected  guise, 

The  deacon  took,  and  raised  it  to  his  eyes. 

xc. 

He  looked  awhile,  but  didn't  seem  to  find 
What  he  was  looking  for,  and  took  it  down. 

"  Perhaps  'tis  true  that  I  am  getting  blind," 
He  said,  with  half  a  smile  and  half  a  frown  ; 

Then  tried  some  views  besides  the  one  designed, 
And  held  it  towards  the  mountain,  bare  and  brown  ; 

But  all  seen  through  it  being  misty,  he, 

Beginning  to  examine,  said,  "  Let's  see, 


83 


xci. 


Does  this  turn  round,  and  out  and  in,-  or  how  ?  "  — 

Invention  of  necessity  is  born  — 
And  then  he  turned  it  once  or  twice,  and  now, 

On  looking  through,  it  seemed  as  clear  as  morn. 
And  he  would  soon  have  seen  them  on  the  plow, 

But  there  was  heard  the  blowing  of  a  horn ; 
Which  brings  good  news  alike  to  saint  and  sinner, 
And  this  was  blown  for  George  to  come  to  dinner. 

xcn. 

'Twas  quite  a  little  later  than  he  thought, 
And  so  at  once  he  sprang  upon  his  feet ; 

For  he  had  "  rested  "  longer  than  he  ought, 
And  now  must  hurry  round,  and  so  complete 

The  present  bout,  returning  to  the  spot 
Where  he  began  each  furrow  to  repeat  — 

And  Nate  picked  up  the  cards  and  put  them  in 

The  pocket  where  his  money  should  have  been. 

xcni. 

When  Deacon  Alden,  sharply  peering  through 
The  glass,  discovered  George  and  Nathan,  they 

Were  up  and  doing  what  they  had  to  do, 
Nate  holding  plow,  endeavoring  to  lay 

A  handsome  furrow,  till  it  brought  them  to 
The  corner,  when  their  work,  as  well  as  play, 

They  there  abandoned,  and  unhitched  the  plow, 

And  Nate  walked  homeward  with  a  placid  brow. 

xciv. 

The  deacon,  turning  to  the  peddler,  said, 
"  What  did  you  sell  the  boy  ?  this  coin  I  gave 
To  him  some  months  ago,  when  he'd  been  led 
Into  an  error  which  I  sought  to  save 


84 


Him  from,  and  teach  him  wisdom's  ways  instead." 

The  peddler,  who  was  not  an  arrant  knave, 
But  in  expedients  a  little  bandy, 
Said  he  had  sold  him  nothing  but  some  candy. 

xcv. 

And  sure  enough!  when  Nate  came  up  the  road, 

He  had  a  stick  of  candy  in  his  hand 
(That  George  had  given  him),  which  clearly  showed 

The  peddler's  yarn  was  not  a  rope  of  sand ; 
And  yet  the  circumstances  might  forebode 

Unfortunate  denouements^  which  should  strand 
His  barque  of  fiction  on  the  rock  of  truth ; 
As  oft  has  chanced  to  some  ingenuous  youth, 

xcvi. 

When  things  were  not  what  they  appeared  to  be  ; 

But  this  was  probable  at  any  rate, 
The  facts  and  statement  seeming  to  agree ;  — 
"  Hello,  my  lad,"  the  peddler  said  to  Nate, 
"  I've  something  here  perhaps  you'd  like  to  see  ; " 

And  holding  up  the  glass,  went  on  to  state 
That  that  would  bring  far  distant  objects  near ; 
Then  placed  it  on  his  nose,  while  in  his  ear, 

xcvn. 

He  whispered  hastily,  "  You  wait  until 

Your  father  goes  away ; "  and  asked  him  then, 

Aloud,  if  he  could  see  on  yonder  hill, 

Some  cattle,  sheep  or  horses,  dogs  or  men ; 
"  Then  take  the  glass,"  he  said,  "  and  hold  it  still, 
And  steady  on  your  nose,  and  look  again." 

For  Nate  had  answered  there  were  none  of  these, 

That  all  that  he  could  see  was  stumps  and  trees. 


85 


XCVIII. 


Nate  took  the  glass,  which  had  been  held  too  high  — 
His  father  stepped  into  the  house  a  minute  — 

The  peddler  said,  "  You'll  have  to  tell  a  lie 
About  the  cards,  or  else  the  deuce  is  in  it ; 

In  making  change  with  him,  it  happened  I 
A  ninepence  gave  him,  and  as  sure  as  sin  it 

Was  yours ;  and  so  I  said,  to  help  you  through, 

You  bought  some  candy.     You  can  say  so  too." 

xcvix. 

"  Oh  dear ! "  said  Nate,  "  he  knew  how  much  I'd  got, 
He'll  know  I  wouldn't  spend  ten  cents  for  that ; 

I  wish  you'd  take  'em  back,  and  give  me  what 
You  can  afford  —  what  you  can  sell  'em  at, 

To  any  boy  that  plays,  for  like  as  not 

He'll  want  to  see  my  money ;  then  he'll  bat 

Me  for  it  if  it's  gone,  and  I  can't  show 

The  candy  either  —  and  I  can't  you  know." 

c. 

"  All  right,"  the  peddler  said,  « I'll  give  you  eight, 

And  take  them  back,  although  you've  played  a  game 
Or  two."    "I'll  do  it;  take  'em  quick,"  said  Nate, 
"  'Fore  he  comes  back ;  "  and  presently  he  came ; 
Though  not  till  they'd  had  time  to  stipulate 
The  terms  of  sale,  and  carry  out  the  same, 
And  Nate  had  got  his  money  in  his  pocket, 
The  secret  locked  so  they  could  not  unlock  it. 

ci. 

The  peddler  gathered  his  commodities 
Into  his  cart,  and  slowly  drove  away : 

And  Nate  was  glad  for  what  remained  of  his, 
Although  at  best  he  was  compelled  to  say 


86  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

That  he  was  beaten  —  as  he  ever  is 

Who  plays  unfairly  in  a  moral  play  — 
A  play  wherein  poor  Nate  had  lost  a  game, 
But  saved  his  reputation  free  from  blame : 

en. 

As  many  a  worthy  youth  had  done  before  — 
As  many  a  man  has  done  in  later  years ; 

As  if  he  valued  reputation  more 

Than  character,  which  afterwards  appears ; 

And  even  through  the  masks  the  parties  wore, 

In  spite  of  all  pretence,  and  all  veneers  — 
.  Becomes  as  visible  as  sun  or  moon, 

At  noon  of  night  or  at  the  hour  of  noon. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


Perhaps  the  reader  may  expect,  ere  long, 

Before  the  desultory  tale  advances 
Much  farther,  that  I'll  weave  into  my  song, 

Some  record  of  the  chances  and  mischances 
Of  youthful  loves  and  lovers ;  such  as  throng 

The  pages  of  old  legends  and  romances  : 
But  this  is  not  designed  to  be  a  story, 
Exclusively  of  love,  or  fame,  or  glory. 

n. 

And  yet,  if  peradventure  I  should  find 
My  characters  in  love  —  or  any  one, 

Or  two  or  more  of  them  —  I  shouldn't  mind 
Recording  all  the  facts,  as  I've  begun 

To  write,  and  as  I'm  natively  inclined 

To  truth  ;  so  should  it  chance  to  sometimes  run 

In  that  direction,  to  a  modest  flame, 

I  shouldn't  deem  myself  at  all  to  blame. 

in. 

Will  Hay  den  was  enamored  of  his  books, 
And  also  in  a  general  way,  of  girls ; 

And  there  was  one  of  whom  he  liked  the  looks, 
Much  better  than  the  rest ;  whose  glossy  curls 

87 


88  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

Afforded  him  some  quite  convenient  nooks, 

Wherein  to  hide  his  fingers.     As  it  whirls, 
The  wheel  of  fortune  brings  us  all  at  times, 
Within  the  spell  of  love's  euphonious  chimes. 

IV. 

And  yet  to  Will  his  books  were  all  in  all, 
Or  nearly  so,  for  he  was  quite  intent 

On  his  emancipation  from  the  thrall 
__  Of  ignorance  and  error  ;  and  he  meant, 

At  the  academy,  the  coming  fall, 

If  so  his  father  would  give  his  consent, 

To  delve  a  little  in  the  mysteries 

Of  education,  which  should  thus  be  his. 

v. 

He  now  was  working  out  upon  a  farm ; 

Engaged  for  all  the  season,  which  would  run 
Some  weeks  beyond  the  date  which  held  the  charm 

Of  being  that  when  school  should  be  begun  : 
But  then  he  reckoned  it  would  do  no  harm, 

If  that  could  satisfactorily  be  done, 
To  shorten  it  by  so  much,  as  he  could, 
By  teaching  in  the  winter,  make  it  good. 

VI. 

His  age  was  then  a  little  past  eighteen  ; 

It  so  increases  as  the  years  extend. 
We  all  grow  old,  as  can  be  plainly  seen ; 

Our  earthly  pilgrimage  will  shortly  end ; 
And  we  may  look  upon  the  silvery  sheen, 

With  which  we  gild,  as  lights  and  shadows  blend, 
The  other  shore  ;  and  fondly  trust  that  'tis 
From  intuition's  truthful  prophesies. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  89 


VII. 

"That  other  shore,  that  mystic  other  shore ! 

O  who  shall  tell  us  of  the  great  unknown  ? 
Whose  eye  hath  pierced  its  shadowy  boundaries  o'er, 

Whose  feet  have  wandered  in  that  fragrant  zone?"* 
'Tis  true,  alas !  that  those  who've  "  gone  before," 

Have  nearly  all  a  solemn  silence  shown, 
Although  Judge  Samuel  appeared  to  Saul, 
And  truly  prophesied  his  speedy  fall. 

VIII. 

Will's  father  was  an  upright,  honest  man, 

But  generosity  had  made  him  poor  ; 
As  he  had  signed  some  heavy  notes,  which  ran 

To  some  old  Shylock  whom  he  would  secure 
Against  the  failure,  by  his  brother  Dan, 

To  make  the  payment  good  ;  and  to  be  sure, 
Had  all  to  pay ;  as  I  did  when  I  went 
To  ride  one  day  with  dancing-master  Brent! 

IX. 

A  man  of  straw,  as  I  have  found,  alas  ! 

Who  dealt  in  patent  rights  ;  at  least  who  bought 
As  many  as  he  could  of  every  class, 

But  never  sold  them,  though  he  always  thought 
Them  all  bonanzas,  whence  he  should  amass' 

A  fortune  when  his  latest  scheme  was  wrought 
Completely  out,  as  he  should  now  begin  it, 
For  he  was  sure  that  there  were  "  millions  in  it." 

x. 

But  Mr.  Hayden  lent  a  better  name, 
For  many  times  as  much  as  I  did  mine, 

The  upshot  of  it  being  just  the  same, 
He  had  to  pay  to  teach  him  not  to  sign  ; 


From  "  The  Other  Shore,"  by  Laura  Brigham  Boyce. 


90 


And  so  from  moderate  independence,  came 

Almost  to  penury,  that  foe  malign  ! 
Although  his  home  had  never  been  the  haunt, 
At  any  time,  of  grim  and  hungry  want. 

XI. 

But  he  could  not,  perhaps,  afford  to  pay 
Large  sums  for  education  —  nor  did  he, 

In  fact,  believe  much  in  it  any  way, 
To  any  great  extent,  or  high  degree ; 

But  always  held,  and  often  used  to  say, 

To  "  read  and  write  and  cipher,"  this  should  be 

The  aim  of  "  common  folks  "  in  worldly  lore, 

Insisting  that  they  needed  nothing  more. 

XII. 

And  of  his  five  now  nearly  grown  up  sons, 
No  one  had  much  rebelled  against  the  rule, 

Though  one  I  think  —  one  of  the  older  ones  — 
Had  been  a  teacher  in  a  district  school, 

Where  little  else,  as  education  runs, 

Or  did  run  then  —  unless  'twas  playing  "  gool "  - 

Was  ever  taught  to  pupils  but  to  pickle  'em 

In  Mr.  Hayden's  primitive  curriculum. 

XIII. 

But  Will  did  not  believe  in  "  common  folks," 
In  such  a  sense  that  they  should  not  aspire, 

In  spite  of  caste  and  her  oppressive  yokes, 
To  something  better  and  to  something  higher. 

He  deemed  it  quite  legitimate  to  coax, 
From  fickle  fortune,  all  the  heart's  desire, 

Or  all  at  least,  she  could  be  made  to  give, 

Of  happiness  and  knowledge  while  we  live. 


91 


XIV. 


He  furthermore  believed  that  he  could  pay 
His  bills,  until  he  should  be  fairly  learned, 

If  he  could  be  allowed  to  have  his  way, 
And  to  appropriate  what  he  had  earned  ; 

And  also  help  to  keep  the  wolf  at  bay, 

Beneath  the  parent  roof ;  where  he  returned, 

On  many  a  sultry  evening  in  July 

And  August,  when  the  sun  had  left  the  sky, 

xv. 

To  try  to  get  his  father  to  consent 

To  let  him  go  to  school  the  coming  fall , 

But  it  was  evident  the  father  meant 
He  shouldn't  see  a  higher  school  at  all, 

Than  that  to  which  his  elder  brothers  went, 
Commencing  early,  when  almost  too  small 

To  go  and  come,  thence  up  to  one-and- twenty ; 

And  this  for  learning  he  esteemed  a  plenty. 

XVI. 

Thus  unsuccessful  in  his  mission,  Will 

Returned  in  sadness  to  the  morrow's  task ; 

And  often  on  the  way,  when  all  was  still, 

And  earth  was  putting  on  her  shadowy  mask, 

Sat  on  an  old  spruce  log  and  wept,  until 

He'd  thought  of  some  new  form  in  which  to  ask 

The  same  old  question  of  his  fathei,  when 

He  should  go  home  to  plead  his  cause  again. 

XVII. 

Nor  was  it  ever  many  days  before 

He  reappeared,  and  standing  at  the  bar 

Of  that  paternal  court  to  which,  of  yore, 
We  all  were  held  amenable,  and  are 


92 


Impressed  with  its  solemnity  as  o'er 

The  distant  past,  we  see  it  from  afar  — 
He  advocated  earnestly  again, 
The  rights  of  boys  aspiring  to  be  men. 

XVIII. 

And  yet  with  him  the  court  was  always  stern, 
And  its  decisions  constantly  adverse ; 

Until  he  came  reluctantly  to  learn 

That  they  contained  but  little  save  the  hearse 

Of  all  his  hopes  and  arguments,  in  turn, 
Which  now  began  to  rapidly  disperse  ; 

For  he  could  see  no  way  to  re-begin 

The  suit  there  seemed  so  little  chance  to  win. 

XIX. 

This  was  the  second  of  the  only  two 

Great  disappointments  he  had  ever  known  ; 

The  first  occurring  two  years  previous,  through 
An  unsuccessful  effort  of  his  own, 

To  go  to  dancing  school,  with  others  who, 
Of  old  Terpsichore's  fine  art,  had  grown 

So  fond ;  but  he  was  destined  then  to  be 

Defeated  by  his  father's  stern  decree. 

xx. 

And  then  he  demonstrated  his  capacity 

To  pay  expenses,  having  wrought  and  schemed, 

With  all  his  energy,  and  some  sagacity  — 

Made  extra  efforts  many  times,  which  seemed 

To  promise  well,  and  held  with  great  tenacity,    , 
His  small  remunerations,  till  he  deemed 

He  had  a  sum  sufficient  now  to  pay 

His  bills,  which  would  be  moderate  any  way. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  93 

XXI. 

And  when  his  scheme  received  its  overthrow, 
A  fate  which  somehow  he  did  not  expect, 

He  felt  as  if  he  couldn't  have  it  so, 
And  in  it  some  injustice  would  detect : 

He  had  his  girl  engaged,  and  he  most  go 
And  tell  her,  and  he  feared  it  might  reflect 

Upon  his  constancy ;  but  she,  instead 

Of  so  regarding  it,  most  kindly  said, 

XXII. 

"  No  matter  Will,  no  matter,  though  'tis  true 
I  feel  the  disappointment  just  the  same, 

Or  none  the  Jess,  I  dare  say,  than  do  you, 

But  then  it  can't  be  helped ;  you're  not  to  blame. 

Perhaps  —  "  and  here  a  longer  breath  she  drew, 
But  nothing  further  of  the  sentence  came, 

So  what  it  would  have  been  he  had  to  guess — 

A  thought,  perhaps,  not  prudent  to  express. 

XXIII. 

She  had  a  brother  two  years  older  than 
Herself,  she  being  just  as  old  as  Will ; 

And  he  one  night,  before  the  school  began, 
As  they  were  sitting  by  the  window  sill, 

Said,  I  believe  that  I  can  lay  a  plan 
For  Will  to  go,  a  while  at  least,  until 

He's  learned  some  part  of  it,  in  spite  of  all 

His  Father's  said  and  done.    I'll  go  and  call 

XXIV. 

Upon  him  soon,  and  say  I'll  come  again, 
And  he  must  come  and  visit  you  and  me. 

I'll  tell  him  not  to  tell  his  father  when 

The  school  is  to  begin,  and,  don't  you  see  ? 


94  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

I'll  have  him  come  that  very  night,  and  then 
We'll  hitch  the  old  mare  up,  by  hokey !  he 
And  I,  if  we  can  make  it  work,  and  go ; 
And  soon  we'll  learn  to  shake  the  heel  and  toe." 

xxv. 

He  did  as  he  proposed,  and  early  sought 

An  interview  with  Will,  and  told  him ;  though 

The  latter  hesitated,  as  he  ought, 
In  view  of  such  a  firm  paternal  no, 

As  he'd  received,  and  then  besides,  he  thought 
'Twould  be  ungenerous  in  him  to  go, 

And  leave  the  girl  behind,  in  such  a  way, 

But  she  insisted  that  he  shouldn't  stay 

XXVI. 

On  her  account ;  that  if  he  deemed  it  right, 
And  would  assume  so  much  responsibility, 

Or  risk  the  chances  that  his  father  might 
Detect  him  in  it,  and  his  incivility, 

Or  disobedience,  might  then  requite, 
By  compromising  his  assumed  gentility, 

In  such  a  way  as  should  give  cause  to  rue  it, 

Then  she  would  do  her  best  to  help  him  through  it. 

XXVII. 

So  on  the  night  in  question,  he  and  Frank  — 
Her  brother  —  started  for  the  dancing  hall, 

And,  having  no  experienceT  took  their  rank 
Among  beginners,  who  were  mostly  small, 

Which  made  them  feel  as  if  'twere  time  they  drank 
Of  this  peculiar  pleasure,  if  at  all  — 

And  partly,  to  themselves,  it  justified 

The  very  doubtful  measure  they  had  tried. 


WISDOM.  95 


XXVIII. 

They  made  good  progress  in  the  steps,  however, 
And  one  or  two  could  very  fairly  take, 

Before  the  lesson  closed ;  and  they  were  clever 
In  conversation,  and  they  chanced  to  make 

Some  fond  associations,  which  to  sever, 

Caused  "such  emotions  as  the  heart  may  break," 

If  magnified  sufficiently,  although 

It  might  require  some  thousand  times  or  so. 

XXIX. 

Associations  discontinued  when 

The  evening's  lessons  had  been  all  gone  through, 
And  practised  once  or  twice  apiece,  for  then, 

Like  most  of  the  aspiring  youngsters  who 
Were  there,  the  boys  straightway  returned  again, 

And  Will,  as  many  boys  are  wont  to  do, 
Endeavored  to  get  in  and  not  be  heard  — 
To  give  no  signal  of  what  had  occurred. 

XXX. 

What  shadowy  things  seem  real  in  a  dream, 
In  whose  queer  freaks  we  are  but  helpless  toys : 

A  door,  swung  open  in  the  night,  will  scream ; 
To  drive  nails  Sunday  makes  a  dreadful  noise. 

At  least  such  noises  then  much  louder  seem, 
To  reverent  men  and  late  returning  boys, 

Who  try  into  their  rooms  to  softly  creep, 

And  not  disturb  their  mothers  in  their  sleep. 

XXXI. 

And  yet  on  this  occasion  Will  succeeded 

In  getting  in  unusually  well ; 
He  made  no  sound  which  he  himself  had  heeded, 

So  silently  the  door-latch  rose  and  fell; 


96  WILLOUGHBY  S    WISDOM, 

But  some  maternal  hearts  have  nothing  needed, 

At  times,  but  presence,  all  doubts  to  expel ; 
As  what  his  mother  said  might  indicate, 
"It  seems  to  me  you've  staid  out  rather  late." 

XXXII. 

She  said  no  more,  though  he  made  no  reply ; 

She  knew  whom  she  addressed  in  tones  so  mild, 
For  while  the  father  slept  with  heavy  eye, 

The  mother  felt  the  presence  of  her  child : 
And  yet  she  could  not  feel  the  untold  lie, 

Or  untold  truth,  by  which  she  was  beguiled  — 
Such  are  thy  mysteries  O  nature !  such, 
O  love !  which  tells  so  little  and  so  much. 

XXXIII. 

Well,  when  the  evening  of  the  next  week  came, 
On  which  the  dance  was  had,  the  two  boys  tried, 

And  tried  successfully,  to  do  the  same 

That  they  had  done  before ;  and  Will,  to  hide 

His  purposes,  and  shun  apparent  blame, 

Slipped  out  his  Sunday  clothes,  securely  tied 

Into  a  bundle,  while  his  "  every  day  " 

Ones  he,  to  this  same  neighbor's  wore  away. 

xxxiv. 

The  third  week  Mr.  Hayden  took  a  notion, 
However,  Will  should  not  go  anywhere 

That  evening,  raising  thus  a  sad  commotion, 
Within  his  breast,  although  'twas  not  despair : 

It  simply  acted  as  a  cooling  lotion, 

To  spirits  that  were  growing  light  as  air, 

In  spite  of  disappointment,  and  in  spite 

Of  even  Fannie's  staying  every  night, 


97 


XXXV. 

At  home,  while  helping  him  to  get  away  — 
As  was  becoming  in  a  neighbor's  daughter, 

To  help  a  neighbor's  son  —  and  he,  or  they, 
To  pay  her  for  it,  diligently  taught  her 

What  they  had  learned  at  night,  the  following  day, 
And  all  the  week ;  and  Will  I  dare  say  thought  her 

As  tractable  a  scholar  as  he  could 

Have  had  or  wished ;  as  any  fellow  would. 

xxxvi. 

That  night,  however,  things  were  changed  about: 
Will  didn't  come,  although  they  knew  not  why; 

And  Frank  proposed  that  she  for  once  go  out, 
And  she  was  not  unwilling  to  comply, 

Although  her  mother  did  express  some  doubt 
If  it  were  best,  and  yet  she  didn't  try 

To  force  compliance,  and  she  went;  and  she 

Taught  Will  that  lesson,  so  he  then  had  three. 

XXXVII. 

And  when  he  found  that  he  could  get  them  so,, 
And  get  them  pretty  well,  he  didn't  care 

So  much  if  he,  some  evenings,  couldn't  go, 
But  one  or  other  of  the  two  was  there, 

At  every  lesson  of  the  course;  and  though 
Not  reckoned  as  "  a  couple,"  were  a  pair, 

Who  made  the  most  of  opportunities 

Which,  being  his,  were  hers,  or  hers,  were  his. 

XXXVIII. 

And  thus  his  disappointment,  though  it  fell 
So  heavily  at  first,  and  though  'twas  still 

A  turn  of  fortune  which  contained  the  knell 
Of  hopes  that  ne'er  returned,  and  never  will, 


98 


Was  robbed  of  half  its  bitterness,  as  well 

For  her  as  for  himself.     The  wind  is  ill, 
They  say,  that  blows  nobody  any  good, 
And  they  were  satisfied  as  matters  stood. 

xxxix. 

But  now  the  case  was  sadder  far  than  then ; 

He  couldn't  go  to  school  a  season  through, 
By  slyly  slipping  out  and  in  again, 

Without  the  knowledge  of  his  father,  who, 
Among  the  kindest  and  the  best  of  men, 

In  his  stern  way,  was  rather  apt  to  do 
Whate'er  his  judgment  held  as  being  best, 
And  leave  to  providential  care  the  rest. 

XL. 

And  Will  at  length  began  to  realize 

That  he  was  destined  now  to  be  defeated ;  — 

Of  what  appeared  the  fondest  earthly  prize, 
By  force  of  circumstances  to  be  cheated ; 

Unless  he  could  contrive  some  way  to  rise 
Above  impediments,  which  should  be  treated 

As  slight  obstructions  in  his  onward  way, 

To  be  removed  or  to  be  held  at  bay. 

XLI. 

He  tried  all  summer,  though  he  tried  in  vain, 
To  get  permission  that  he  might  arrange 

To  go  to  school.     He  managed  to  obtain 

Some  text  books,  purchased  with  a  little  change 

He'd  somehow  got  together,  and  would  fain 
Invest  in  sciences  yet  new  and  strange, 

And  these  he  studied  nights  and  Sundays  then, 

And  when  at  work,  went  over  them  again. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  99 

XLII. 

He  thus  kept  nearly  up  with  one  or  two 
Acquaintances  who  were  at  school,  until 

His  time  was  out,  that  is,  till  he  was  through 
With  what  he  was  expected  to  fulfil 

Of  the  agreement  binding  him  to  do 

A  half  year's  work.    The  village  school  had  still 

Six  weeks  to  run,  and  then  he  said,  "  I  know 

That  Father  can't  help  saying  I  may  go." 

XLIII. 

But  this  was  also  a  delusive  hope, 

Which,  like  the  rest,  would  soon  be  on  the  wing, 
For  Mr,  Hay  den  thought,  as  said  by  Pope, 
"  A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing ;  " 
Nor  would  he  have  him  give  his  talents  scope, 

By  "  drinking  deep  "  at  the  "  Pierian  spring  —  " 
Or  at  the  spring  of  scientific  lore, 
So  answered  no,  as  he  had  done  before. 

XLIV. 

Will's  heart  sank  down  within  him.     He  could  see 
His  cherished  purpose  was  to  be  resisted 

With  counter  purposes,  which  seemed  to  be 
No  less  determined,  and  to  be  insisted 

Upon  as  principles ;  which  somehow  he, 
The  father,  entertained ;  and  there  existed 

Some  instances,  'tis  true,  where  education 

Had  done  some  harm  without  much  compensation. 

XLV. 

I  say  not  Willoughby  was  angry,  yet 

To  him  his  father's  course  seemed  quite  unjust, 

'Twas  not  a  state  of  things  from  which  to  get 
Much  consolation,  but  to  which  he  must 


100 


Submit  ;  and  though  it  did  no  good  to  fret, 

He  wept  by  turns,  and  anxiously  discussed 
The  problem  now  so  difficult  to  solve, 
But  came  at  length  to  quite  a  bold  resolve. 

XL  VI. 

His  dancing  school  companions,  friendly  still, 
Had  relatives  some  distance  southward,  near 

A  pleasant  village  where  there  was  a  mill, 
And  where  they  used  to  visit  once  a  year  ; 

And  when  they  had  returned,  they'd  always  fill 
His  ears  with  stories,  which  he  loved  to  hear, 

Of  what  they'd  seen  and  heard,  and  chanced  to  do, 

Which  made  him  wish  that  he  could  go  there  too. 

XL  VII. 

And  then  it  being  farther  south,  he  deemed 
That  there  the  piercing  and  the  bitter  cold, 

With  which  the  northern  winters  always  teemed, 
At  least  might  partially  release  its  hold. 

'Twas  painted  yellow  on  the  map,  and  seemed 
As  if  'twere  fashioned  in  a  milder  mold  ; 

Where  brighter  sunshine  gilded  wood  and  lea  — 

Such  dreams  as  may  have  come  to  you  or  me. 


At  least  they  frequently  have  come  to  me, 
Some  fairy  landscape  'neath  a  distant  sky, 

Which  I  have  felt  a  strong  desire  to  see, 

And  sometimes  have  pursued,  scarce  knowing  why  ; 

Nor  have  they  always  proved  in  fact,  to  be 
Mere  jack-a-lanterns,  iynesfatui, 

Or  things  imaginary  ;  but  indeed, 

Some  Eldorado  to  supply  my  need. 


101 


XLIX. 


Will  told  his  father  he  could  see  no  use 
In  going  longer  to  the  common  school ; 

And  therefore  he  would  now  propose  a  truce 
To  that,  as  being  nothing  but  to  "  fool 

Away  his  time,"  though  this  was  but  a  ruse, 
By  which  to  cast  his  fortunes  in  the  pool 

Of  chance  and  circumstance,  which  might,  he  thought, 

Contain  what  now  the  district  school  could  not. 

L. 

He  further  said,  "  If  I  can  go  this  fall, 

Where  Frank  has  been,  and  work  in  that  big  mill, 
At  something  I  can  do,  I'll  send  you  all, 

Or  nearly  all  I  earn  ;  and  stay  until 
It's  time  to  go  to  work  in  spring ;  and  call 

It  even  for  the  winter,  when  I  will, 
Of  course  come  back,  if  you  should  want  me  to, 
Or  stay,  perhaps,  and  work  the  whole  year  through." 

LI. 

To  this  the  father  didn't  much  object, 

Though  this  result,  that  he  might  not  succeed, 

Was  one,  he  said,  which  they  must  half  expect, 
But  then  he'd  see  the  world,  and  see  the  need, 

Perhaps,  of  saving  what  he  could  collect 
Of  this  world's  goods  ;  and  so  it  was  agreed 

That  he  should  try  it  when  his  clothes  were  made, 

By  some  skilled  woman  of  the  clothing  trade. 

LII. 

He'd  worked  a  fortnight  since  his  time  was  out, 
And  had  four  dollars,  which  he  said  he  guessed 

Would  pay  expenses,  or  would  be  about 

Enough,  and  he  could  somehow  earn  the  rest, 


102 

What  he  should  need,  although  he  had  no  doubt 

He'd  get  the  job  of  which  he  was  in  quest; 
Yet  being  urged,  he  took  the  dollar  which 
His  father  offered  him,  and  felt  quite  rich. 

LUI. 

His  mother's  purse  was  nearly  empty ;  she, 
However,  went  and  took  from  it  the  one, 

And  only  coin  therein,  which  chanced  to  be 

A  "  fourpence,"  smoothly  worn  from  service  done, 

Which  giving  him,  she  said,  "  You'll  think  of  me, 
When  this  is  all  that  you  have  left,  my  son  ; 

'Twill  buy  some  crackers  for  you  then,  my  dear  —  " 

And  on  his  neck  she  shed  the  parting  tear. 

LIV. 

"  Be  good,"  she  said,  "  above  all  things  be  good, 
Remember  Him  who  gave  his  life  for  }rou, 

Who  made  the  sacrifice  none  other  could, 
To  save  us  from  our  sins.     Do  not  pursue 

The  vain  things  of  the  world,  though  others  should 
Entice  you  to  them ;  but  be  ever  true 

And  faithful  to  the  service  of  the  Lord, 

That  you  may  gain  the  Christian's  sure  reward." 

LV. 

A  mother's  love !  of  all  the  wondrous  things 
This  wondrous  world  exhibits,  this  is  one 

Most  truly  wonderful ;  which  fondly  brings 
Its  blessing  for  the  deeds  of  virtue  done 

Not  only,  but  which  also  kindly  flings 

Its  mantle  over  those  that  we  should  shun : 

All  unsurpassed  by  aught  unless  it  be 

The  love  of  God,  vouchsafed  to  you  and  me. 


103 


LVI. 


Will  started  off  when  he  had  thus  been  dressed, 

By  art  of  tailoress  and  devotee 
Of  old  St.  Crispin,  and  had  been  caressed 

By  youthful  friends  whom  he  had  been  to  see, 
Been  fondly  kissed  by  sisters,  and  been  blest 

By  father  and  by  mother,  which  to  be, 
Is  happiness  that  many  a  youth  has  known, 
But  which,  in  after  years,  he  finds  has  flown. 

LVII. 

George  carried  him  as  far  as  he  could  well 
Drive  out  and  back  before  it  should  be  night, 

And  while  they  rode  along,  essayed  to  tell 
What  he  must  do  to  "  get  along  all  right ; " 

Assuring  him  that  if  misfortune  fell 

Upon  him,  he  would  do  whate'er  he  might, 

To  help  him ;  and  at  length  he  set  him  down, 

Some  twenty  miles  beyond  his  native  town. 

LVIII. 

His  train  of  thought  assumed  a  sober  theme, 
As  looking  backward  with  a  solemn  face, 

He  mutely  stood  till  George  had  turned  the  team, 
Like  lover  waiting  for  a  last  embrace, 

And  loth  to  go ;  nor  could  he  make  it  seem 

That  things  were  real  which  were  taking  place, 

As  either  looked  into  the  other's  eye, 

And  clasping  hands,  they  fondly  said  good-by< 

LIX. 

They  parted  thus,  and  George  returned  alone, 
And  Will  went  forward  to  his  destiny ; 

Which  now  was  partially  within  his  own 
Control,  he  thought,  as  he  was  partly  free : 


104 

\ 

And  with  a  buoyancy  he'd  seldom  known, 

He  gazed  about,  on  meadow,  hill  and  tree, 
Which  'twas  a  constant  pleasure  to  behold, 
Now  dressed  in  robes  of  scarlet  and  of  gold. 

LX. 

He  walked  a  dozen  miles  that  afternoon, 
Until  he  reached  a  thrifty  railroad  town  — 

The  road  just  being  built  —  and  very  soon 
Was  quartered  at  an  inn  of  much  renown ; 

And  in  his  room,  before  the  rising  moon 
Was  fairly  up,  he  wearily  sat  down, 

Before  a  window,  there  to  feast  his  eye, 

On  his  imaginary  southern  sky. 

LXI. 

At  early  dawn  he  went  and  paid  his  bill, 

Which  so  impressed  him  with  its  magnitude  — 

As  I  have  noticed  that  it  often  will 
A  youthful  traveller,  a  little  crude  — 

That,  only  for  a  lodging,  as  he  still 

Had  food  he  brought  from  home,  it  seemed,  as  viewed 

By  him,  extravagant,  if  not  unjust ; 

As  an  expensive  item  which  he  must, 

LXII. 

In  some  way,  lessen  in  the  next  locality 

Where  he  should  stop,  although  he  scarce  knew  hovr, 
Or  how  to  ask  for  private  hospitality, 

Among  the  strangers  who  would  greet  him  now. 
His  dreams  began  to  seem  like  stern  reality ; 

Yet  in  his  purpose  he  would  not  allow 
Himself  to  waver  or  to  hesitate, 
But  rather,  steadily  pursued  his  fate. 


105 


LXIII. 

Before  the  evening  of  the  second  day, 

He  reached  a  village  of  the  smaller  size  — 

Among  the  many  which  so  calmly  lay 

Between  the  green  hills  towering  to  the  skies 

One  side  of  which  a  long  pond  stretched  away, 
And  held  a  floating  bridge  that  used  to. rise 

And  fall  as  did  the  tide,  whose  ceaseless  flow 

Then  carried  two  trip-hammers  just  below. 

LXIV. 

And  here  he  stopped  a  little,  hiring  out, 

As  boy  assistant  to  a  carpenter, 
For  half  a  month,  although  he  was  in  doubt 

If  he  should  thus  be  able  to  confer 
As  much  as  he  received,  which  was  about 

The  same  as  ordinary  wages  were, 
For  unskilled  labor,  which  at  best  commands 
But  poor  reward  for  toil  of  human  hands. 

LXV. 

The  Sunday  after  his  arrival  here, 

Attending  morning  service  at  the  church, 

And  in  the  afternoon,  it  being  clear, 

Of  out-door  pleasures  having  been  in  search, 

Again  at  evening,  lest  he  should  appear, 
His  duty  in  religious  things,  to  lurch, 

He  went  into  the  meeting  held  for  prayer ; 

And  as  it  chanced  the  parson  wasn't  there, 

LXVI. 

The  senior  deacon  took  the  lead,  a  lean, 
Old  man  who  had  a  leg  of  cork  or  wood ; 

Who  read  the  hymns  by  the  uncertain  sheen, 
A  tallow  candle  gave,  as  best  he  could ; 


106 


His  voice  was  strong,  his  intellect  was  keen, 

His  eyesight  too,  apparently  was  good, 
As  aided  by  the  glasses  that  he  wore, 
But  that  lame  leg  of  his,  somehow,  before 

LXVII. 

He  brought  his  reading  to  the  formal  close, 

Slipped  out  of  place,  and  played  him  false  indeed  ; 

Such  treatment  as  we  may  expect  from  those 
Who  promise  largely  when  there  is  no  need 

For  friendly  offices.     His  hands  arose, 
As  by  their  own  volition,  to  impede 

The  progress  of  his  fall,  in  such  a  plight, 

Or  to  prevent  it  if  perchance  he  might. 

LXVIII. 

And  throwing  up  his  arms,  he  threw  away, 

Involuntarily,  from  either  hand, 
Whatever  it  contained ;  that  is  to  say, 

The  book  from  one,  which  he  could  not  command, 
And  like  a  rocket  Independence  day, 

The  candle  from  the  other ;  which  was  fanned 
By  upward  flight,  some  little  distance,  when, 
Like  falling  meteor,  it  fell  again. 

LXIX. 

And  in  its  downward  path  there  chanced  to  sit, 
A  fair  young  maiden,  then  at  "sweet  sixteen." 

Perhaps  her  beauty  had  attracted  it, 
Although  to  say  it  had  I  do  not  mean, 

But  that  some  ruffles  which  she  wore  were  lit, 
As  sparks  might  light  a  powder  magazine ; 

And  quicker  far  than  I  can  find  the  phrase 

Wherein  to  tell  it,  they  were  all  ablaze. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  107 


LXX. 

And  in  an  instant  more,  Will  Hayden,  who 

Was  sitting  at  the  time  not  far  away, 
Sprang  on  his  feet  and  quickly  darted  through 

The  little  intervening  space  that  lay 
Between  them ;  and  he  knew  just  what  to  do, 

For  George  —  in  his  advice  which,  on  the  day 
He  brought  him  from  his  home,  he  gave  to  serve 
His  future  needs  —  had  happened  to  observe, 

LXXI. 

"  Suppose  the  fire  in  that  great  pile  of  tow, 

Had  not  been  smothered  quicker'n  lightnin' ;  then 

We'd  had  the  house  afire  ;  and  don't  you  know  — 
Although  we  might  have  gathered  all  the  men 

In  all  creation,  and  might  had  'em  throw 

The  water  from  the  well  or  brook —  that  ten 

To  one  they'd  lost  it?     What  then  should  be  done? 

Put  out  your  fire  before  it  gets  begun." 

LXXII. 

And  on  this  sage  advice  Will  acted  now ; 

He  threw  his  arms  around  her,  breast  to  breast, 
In  such  a  manner  as  should  not  allow 

A  draft  of  air  between  them ;  and  he  pressed 
So  firmly  that  she  was  compelled  to  bow 

In  mute  submission  to  the  strange  behest 
Of  fate  —  which  never  could  have  been  foretold  — 
Until  he  cautiously  released  his  hold. 

LXXIII. 

The  fire  was  thus  extinguished,  but  the  dress 

Which  Mabel  wore  —  for  so  they  christened  her  — 

While  feeding  it,  was  injured  more  or  less, 
As  is  but  natural  we  should  infer ; 


108 


And  whether,  in  the  light  of  his  success, 
To  thank  him  for  the  service  or  demur 
Against  the  method  used,  she  hardly  knew, 
And  while  she  hesitated,  he  withdrew. 

LXXIV. 

She  wasn't  able  yet  to  justly  prize 

The  value  of  his  deed ;  nor  did  she  know, 

At  least  she  didn't  fully  realize, 

The  danger  which  she  had  escaped,  although 

His  kindness  soon  she  sought  to  recognize, 
And  much  regretted  he  was  gone  ;  and  so 

There  might  be,  as  there  often  would,  no  doubt, 

Two  fires  enkindled  by  the  one  put  out. 

LXXV. 

At  any  rate,  the  following  day  she  wrote 
A  line  to  him,  as  kindly  as  could  be, 

Although  I  will  not  undertake  to  quote 
Therefrom,  as  that  might  seem  a  little  free 

With  private  correspondence,  but  the  note 
Expressed  an  earnest  wish  that  she  might  see 

The  one  who  saved  her  life,  or  saved  at  least, 

From  greater  danger,  had  the  flames  increased. 

LXXVI. 

Her  mother  too  —  or  rather  'twas  her  aunt, 
But  all  the  mother  she  had  known  of  late, 

As  death,  some  years  before,  so  grim  and  gaunt, 
By  sad  permission  of  relentless  fate, 

Had  called  her  mother,  and  as  mortals  can't 
Resist  the  summons,  but  must  all  await 

Its  coming,  so  did  she,  and  when  it  came, 

She  bade  it  welcome  in  the  Father's  name. 


109 


LXXVII. 

Her  aunt,  with  whom  she  lived,  requested  her 

To  also  say  that  she'd  be  very  glad 
To  see  him  at  the  house,  and  to  confer 

Some  little  favor  on  him,  if  she  had 
The  opportunity.     A  wanderer, 

Away  from  home,  he  might  be  feeling  sad, 
She  said,  and  lonely,  and  in  need  of  friends  — 
And  who  does  not  need  all  that  heaven  sends  ? 

LXXIII. 

Will  got  the  note  and  read  it,  and  replied 
In  person,  ringing  at  the  cottage  door 

Where  Mabel  lived,  and  while  he  waited,  tried 
To  fortify  himself  by  thinking  o'er 

What  might  be  best  to  say ;  and  how  to  hide 
The  feeling  which  had  grown  to  something  more 

Than  he  expected,  or  designed  it  should, 

And  when  the  door  was  opened,  Mabel  stood 

LXXIX. 

Therein,  and  he  was  rather  at  a  loss 

To  know  just  what  to  say  or  what  to  do ; 

The  rubicon  he  was  about  to  cross, 

Demanded  courage  in  a  youngster  who 

Had  known  but  little  of  the  silken  floss 

With  which  the  web  of  love  is  woven  through, 

Nor  did  he  much  expect,  or  now  intend, 

To  get  in  love  with  her,  his  new  found  friend. 

LXXX. 

He  bowed  and  said,  "I  got  a  line  from  you." 
Said  she,  "  I  think  you're  Mr.  Hayden,  sir; 

And  feeling  that  my  hearty  thanks  were  due 
For  what  you  —  "  here  he  interrupted  her, 


110 


And  said  he  came  most  gladly  to  renew 

The  "  short  acquaintance  "  which  it  might  occur 
To  her,  was  rather  too  informal,  though 
Necessity  alone  bad  made  it  so. 

LXXXI. 

Extending  him  her  hand,  she  said  again, 
"  I  thank  you  kindly  for  the  timely  aid 

You  rendered,  though  I  didn't  do  it  then. 
I  should,  however,  if  you'd  only  staid 

A  little  longer  than  you  did,  and  when 

My  fright  was  partly  over,  would  have  paid 

The  debt  of  gratitude  which  seems  so  fit, 

Or  at  the  least  would  have  acknowledged  it." 

LXXXH. 

She  had  a  blue  eye,  tranquil  and  serene, 

From  which  he  saw  a  pearly  tear-drop  start ; 

Her  manner  seemed  a  sort  of  cross  between 
A  child's  simplicity  and  woman's  art 

Of  gracefulness ;  and  now  it  could  be  seen, 
That  what  she  said  was  from  a  grateful  heart. 

She  led  him  in  and  introduced  her  aunt, 

And  mother  by  adoption,  Mrs.  Grant. 

LXXXIII. 

The  aunt  received  him  in  a  kindly  way  — 
And  she  was  given  much  to  kindly  ways, 

As  all  her  friends  had  known  for  many  a  day, 
And  Mabel  knew  her  as  above  all  praise. 

And  she  of  course  had  something  more  to  say, 
Expressing  gratitude  in  fitting  phrase, 

For  what  he  had  accomplished  for  "  the  child," 

As  still  she  called  her,  and  she  sweetly  smiled 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  1H 

LXXXIV. 

Upon  him  till  his  heart  was  captivated 

(A  thing  which  might  have  chanced  to  you  or  me), 
As  also  had  been,  so  'twas  intimated, 

The  heart  of  one  much  older  than  was  he. 
She  was  a  widow,  as  may  be  related 

With  strict  propriety,  for  aught  I  see, 
As  also  that,  by  current  information, 
A  second  marriage  was  in  contemplation. 

LXXXV. 

Howe'er  that  might  have  been,  she  treated  Will 
Most  kindly ;  asked  if  he  designed  to  stay 

In  town  all  winter,  which  appeared  to  chill 
His  spirits  some,  for  he  must  go  away ; 

Although  he  hadn't  cared  for  that  until 

About  this  time ;  and  there  was  naught  to  say, 

Except  that  he  expected  soon  to  go 

Some  little  distance  farther  "  down  below." 

LXXXVI. 

He  stayed,  however,  towards  a  month  in  all, 
Till  his  employer's  building  was  completed ; 

And  once  or  twice  a  week  he  made  a  call 

At  Mrs.  Grant's,  where  he  was  fondly  greeted ; 

And  as  the  number  of  the  days  grew  small, 
That  he  should  stay,  more  frequently  repeated 

The  grateful  visits,  till  the  night  before 

His  last  look  at  their  hospitable  door. 

LXXXVII. 

Most  couples  would  have  been  o'er  head  and  ears 
In  love  by  this  time,  but  these  two  were  not; 

At  least  it  wasn't  spoken,  save  in  tears, 

And  words  of  kindness,  speaking  true  love's  thought ; 


112 


For  they  remembered  they  were  young  in  years, 
That  love  with  much  uncertainty  is  fraught, 
So  plighted  not  their  vows  as  lovers  do, 
But  promised  friendship,  loving,  just  and  true. 

LXXXVIII. 

The  morning  after  they  had  said  good-by. 

Expressing  each  to  each  their  strong  good-will, 
He  took  his  satchel  —  not  without  a  sigh  — 

And  so  resumed  his  journey  to  the  mill, 
Where  he  designed  to  work ;  at  least  to  try 

To  get  a  situation  he  could  fill, 
But  now  he  wished  he  might  continue  where 
He  had  been,  for  his  heart  must  still  be  there. 

LXXXIX. 

Then  he  remembered  what  his  brother  said, 
"  Don't  get  in  love  before  you're  twenty-one," 

Among  the  rules  by  which  he  would  be  led, 
To  some  extent,  all  dangerous  roads  to  shun ; 

And  this  especially  ran  through  his  head, 
"  Put  out  your  fire  before  it  gets  begun  ; " 

But  now  it  had  begun,  and  yet  he  tried 

To  put  it  out,  or  from  himself  to  hide 

xc. 

Its  burning  ;  though  it  still  kept  smouldering  low, 
While  he  was  trying  to  extinguish  it, 

Nor  did  he  any  cogent  reason  know, 
Why  its  continuance  be  deemed  unfit, 

Except  that  he  was  young,  and  meant  to  go 

To  school,  perhaps  some  years  before  he  quit  — 

And  thus  he  plodded  o'er  life's  onward  track, 

Half  looking  forward  and  half  looking  back. 


113 


xci. 


As  many  a  man  has  done,  in  vain  regret, 
For  some  misfortune  or  mistake  or  sin  ; 

Or  in  remembrance  of  some  joy,  which  yet 
Lights  up  the  path  he  still  is  walking  in ; 

Or  in  the  hope  that  ere  his  sun  shall  set, 

Some  good  thing  yet  may  be  which  might  have  been 

Thus  living  in  the  past  and  future,  more 

Than  in  the  present,  which  we  oft  ignore. 

XCII. 

The  turnpike  over  which  his  journey  lay, 
Was  on  a  broad,  high  belt  of  cultured  land, 

Which  to  the  valley  gently  sloped  away, 
Though  quite  unevenly,  on  either  hand, 

With  hills  and  mountains  still  beyond  ;  and  they 
Made  up  a  view  most  picturesque  and  grand  : 

One,  as  it  lay  beneath  the  mellow  sheen 

Of  "  Indian  Summer,"  worthy  to  be  seen. 

XCIII. 

Nor  was  the  glamour  of  his  distant  view, 

Yet  dissipated  by  the  present  one, 
Which  seemed  to  him  not  altogether  new ; 

Which,  as  it  glistened  in  the  autumn  sun,, 
Was  painted  nearly  in  the  selfsame  hue 

That  he  imagined  when  he  had  begun 
To  build  air  castles  in  the  neighborhood 
Where  now  he  looked  on  hill  and  dale  and  wood. 

xciv. 

Why  should  it  be  ?  Those  who  have  ever  seen 

The  lovely  picture  which  I  here  essay 
To  feebly  paint,  in  all  its  hues  of  green 

And  gold  and  red,  which  on  his  pathway  lay, 


114 


Or  others  similar,  that  lie  between 

The  Green  Hills  and  the  White,  when  pass  away 
The  summer  days,  will  readily  conceive 
Them  equal  to  what  fancy  e'er  might  weave. 

xcv. 

The  day  was  one  which  only  autumn  sees, 
The  golden  harvest  gathered,  blade  and  ear, 

The  gorgeous  hues  upon  the  maple  trees, 
The  culminating  grandeur  of  the  year. 

I've  often  thought,  when  I've  communed  with  these, 
An  Indian  Summer  day  had  not  its  peer, 

For  sweet  enchantment  and  for  loveliness, 

The  troubled  soul  to  soothe  and  calm  and  bless. 

xcvi. 

"  There  was  that  nameless  splendor  everywhere  " 

(As  sang  the  Cambridge  bard  in  rhythm  sweet), 
"  That  wild  exhilaration  in  the  air, 

Which  makes  the  passers  in  the  city  street " 
(And  those  no  less  in  country  places  fair) 

"  Congratulate  each  other  as  they  meet ; " 
And  Will  had  reason  to  congratulate 
Himself  that  he  was  now  so  fortunate. 

XCVII. 

Through  all  that  day,  so  cloudless  and  serene, 
He  journeyed  southward  at  a  rapid  pace, 

Till  twenty  miles  were  said  to  intervene, 
Between  his  present  and  his  former  place  ; 

And  every  charming  picture  he  had  seen, 
Contained  an  image  of  fair  Mabel's  face, 

Which,  though  'twas  absent,  he  could  not  forget  — 

Could  not  or  would  not,  or  at  least  not  yet. 


115 


XCVIII. 


The  third  day  brought  him  to  the  woollen  mill  ; 

And  at  the  counting-room  he  asked  if  they 
Had  any  vacancies  they'd  like  to  fill, 

And  was  surprised  to  hear  the  agent  say 
They'd  just  discharged  some  workmen,  and  had  still 

As  many  left  as  they  could  make  it  pay 
To  keep  at  further  work ;  for  he,  somehow, 
Had  not  allowed  himself  to  look,  till  now, 

xcix. 

Much  on  the  dark  side  of  the  picture  he 

Had  drawn  so  fondly  of  his  prospects  where 

It  seemed  to  him  he  needed  but  to  be, 
To  find  enjoyable  surroundings  there. 

Now  he  began  reluctantly  to  see 

That  he  was  building  castles  in  the  air ; 

Or  phantom  ships,  to  vanish  out  of  sight, 

Like  some  mirage  of  evanescent  light. 

c. 

He  couldn't  bring  himself  to  quite  submit 

To  such  an  overthrow  of  such  a  plan 
As  he'd  been  laying,  and  abandon  it, 

And  so  he  queried  further  of  the  man, 
As  o'er  his  mind  a  new  hope  seemed  to  flit, 
"  I'd  like  to  see  the  owner  if  I  can, 
If  you  are  not  the  owner  ;  "  for  he  thought, 
From  what  he'd  said  already,  he  was  not. 

ci. 

The  agent  told  him  rather  curtly  where 

The  owner  lived,  but  said,  "  You'll  throw  away 

The  precious  time  you  spend  in  going  there, 
For  Mr.  Reed  will  have  no  word  to  say, 


116 


Concerning  it."     But  Will  thought  he  could  spare 

The  time,  and  so  he  went  without  delay, 
And  told  the  man  his  history  in  brief, 
And  how  he  came  from  home  to  get  relief, 

en. 

From  present  difficulties ;  and  until 

He  could  afford  to  spend  a  term  at  school, 

He'd  like  a  job  of  some  kind  in  the  mill ; 
But  Mr.  Reed  replied  that  as  a  rule, 

The  chances  were  but  few.     He  said,  "  I  will, 
However  —  though  'twould  be  a  little  cool 

And  wet  —  employ  you  on  a  second  dam 

I'm  building  up  the  stream  from  where  I  am." 

cm. 

His  wife,  who  chanced  to  hear  the  conversation, 
Approached  them,  saying  it  would  be  too  bad, 
To  think  of  giving  such  a  situation, 

At  that  cold  season,  to  so  young  a  lad ; 
"Let's  see,"  she  said,  in  seeming  meditation, 
"  Who  was  that  man  the  other  day  that  had 
A  district  school,  for  which  he  tried  to  get 
A  teacher?     He  may  not  have  found  one  yet. 

civ. 

"  This  boy  can  teach  a  little  school  like  that  — 
I  think  'twas  one  away  up  on  the  hill ;  — " 

Will  brightened  up  and  twirled  around  his  hat, 
Which  he  was  holding  in  his  fingers  still, 

And  said  he  should  be  highly  pleased  thereat, 
But  feared  he  wasn't  qualified  to  fill 

The  high  position  of  a  teacher,  though 

He'd  studied  some,  as  he  perhaps,  could  show. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM,  117 


cv. 

As  Mr.  Reed  remembered  who  it  was, 
They  both  encouraged  him  to  go  and  see 

The  school  committee,  right  away,  because 
'Twas  getting  late,  and  possibly  might  be 

Too  late  already ;  so  without  much  pause, 

And  when  the  mantle  clock  had  just  struck  three, 

He  thanked  them  for  advice  so  kindly  meant, 

And  started  off  upon  this  new  intent. 

cvi. 

The  lady  asked  him  to  come  in  again,  — 
To  leave  his  satchel,  which  he  gladly  did, 

Then  hurried  onward  up  a  narrow  glen, 

Where,  'mong  the  trees,  a  rapid  stream  was  hid, 

Until  he'd  walked  a  mile  or  two,  and  then, 
As  joyous  as  the  scene  he  walked  amid, 

Went  up  a  hill  into  the  neighborhood 

Where  he  would  turn  schoolmaster,  if  he  could. 

cvn. 

He  found  the  house  where  lived  the  school  committee, 
Whose  name  was  Jones,  and  rapped  upon  the  door, 

And  made  his  application.     "'Tis  a  pity," 

Said  Mr.  Jones,  "  that  you  have  not  had  more 

Experience  ;  we  need  a  man  that's  gritty, 
To  keep  our  school,  and  not  get  run  ashore ; 

There's  two  or  three  stout  boys  that  want  to  know 

Who's  master  all  the  time,  or  out  you  go. 

CVIII. 

«  How  old  are  you  ?     You  can't  be  at  the  most, 

Much  over  twenty,  judging  by  your  face  —  " 
And  then  appeared  to  Will  the  weazen  ghost 
Of  false  dissimulation  ;  for  in  case 


118  WILLOUGUBY'S  WISDOM. 

He  should  admit  that  he  could  only  boast 

Of  eighteen  years,  he'd  hardly  get  the  place, 
He  so  much  coveted,  whereas  he  might 
If  he  could  pass  for  twenty,  near  or  quite. 

cix. 

"  Don't  tell  a  lie  unless  you're  cornered,"  said 
His  brother  on  the  way ;  and  this  was  not 
The  kind  of  corner  he  had  then  been  led 

To  think  might  be  legitimate.     He  thought 
'Twould  be  a  breaking  of  the  rule  instead  ; 

And  had  besides,  some  love  for  truth,  which  got 
The  better  of  his  fears,  and  he  replied, 
"  I'm  eighteen  only,  and  eight  months  beside." 

ex. 

"  Eighteen,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  "  will  never  do  ; 

It's  far  too  young,  and  I  shall  have  to  get 
Somebody  that  is  older,  some  one  who 

Will  not  be  quite  as  liable  to  let 
The  boys  run  over  him."     Thus  even  through 

His  virtues,  did  the  tide  of  fortune  set 
Against  him  seemingly,  as  oft  it  will ; 
But  I  shall  try  to  keep  him  virtuous  still. 

CXI. 

His  prospects  thus  had  fallen  to  the  ground, 
And  all  his  recent  hopes  been  crushed  again. 

He  sat  in  sorrow,  more  or  less  profound, 

And  wondered  what  'twere  best  he  should  do  then. 

He  presently  got  up  and  turned  around, 
To  get  his  hat  and  say  good  evening,  when 

Another  rap  was  heard  upon  the  door, 

Where  stood  a  stout  young  man  of  twenty-four. 


119 


CXII. 


He  too  had  come  to  make  his  application 

For  that  same  school,  he  having  heard  that  day, 

That  there  was  still  a  vacant  situation, 

Which  must  be  filled  without  much  more  delay, 

As  it  was  late,  and  on  the  information 
That  Mr.  Jones  was  authorized  to  say 

Who  now  should  fill  it,  he  had  come  to  ask 

If  he  could  have  the  pleasure  of  the  task. 

CXIII. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  "now  here  are  two 
That  want  the  little  school,  to  be  begun 

Week  after  next.     I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do, 
Between  the  two  I'll  take  the  stoutest  one ; 

Which  will  determine  as  to  who  is  who, 

Much  more  than  scholarship,  before  you're  done, 

As  either  knows  enough,  I  have  no  doubt, 

To  teach  our  school,  if  he  could  keep  it  out. 

cxiv. 

"  Now  you  may  wrestle,  lift,  or  what  you  will, 
To  try  the  cause  between  you,  though  I  deem 

This  oldest  one  best  qualified  to  fill 
The  present  situation.     It  may  seem 

But  fair,  however,  that  you  try  your  skill, 
And  should  this  boy  be  beaten,  my  esteem 

For  him  would  be  no  less,  but  in  our  school, 

We  need  more  strength  than  learning,  as  a  rule*" 

cxv. 

Will  looked  as  if  it  had  surprised  him  some, 

This  novel  method  of  examination 
Of  fitness  for  the  school  curriculum, 

Which  should  consist  of  muscular  inflation, 


120  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

And  when  to  such  a  crisis  things  had  come, 

He  said,  "  You're  under  no  such  obligation 
To  me,  and  there's  no  question  which  of  us 
Would  be  selected,  if  examined  thus. 

cxvi. 

"  I  therefore  such  a  contest  will  decline, 
In  favor  of  my  senior  and  superior  ; 

Although  I  can  but  think  that  your  design 
Of  governing  by  force,  will  prove  inferior 

To  that  which,  being  teacher,  would  be  mine, 
That  is,  of  cultivating  the  interior, 

And  better  nature  of  the  boys  that  you, 

In  your  selection,  seem  to  have  in  view." 

CXVII. 

Which  Mr.  Jones  good  naturedly  received, 
But  said  his  confidence  in  gentle  rule, 

Was  very  small  indeed;  that  he  believed 

In  rod  and  ferule  in  the  common  school. 
"  Whate'er  in  theory  may  be  achieved," 

He  said,  "  if  you  should  ever  try  it,  you'll 

Discover  that  it  don't  succeed,  I  fear  — 

At  least  I  shouldn't  want  to  try  it  here." 

CXVIII. 

Will  said  good  night,  and  hurried  back  to  town, 
Disheartened  by  the  failures  of  the  day ; 

Although  he  bore  up  under  fortune's  frown 
As  well  as  I  should,  I  presume  to  say. 

He  half  regretted  that  he  e'er  came  down, 
But  still  insisted  that  he'd  come  to  stay, 

Whene'er  he  found  himself  debating  whether 

To  now  give  up  his  purpose  altogether. 


121 


CXIX. 


It  being  late,  he  went  into  the  inn, 

And  asked  the  landlord  what  his  charges  were, 
For  meals  and  lodging ;  told  him  where  he'd  been, 

That  he  was  now  a  sort  of  wanderer, 
In  search  of  work.     "  I've  been  through  thick  and  thin," 

The  host  replied,  "  till  I  can  hardly  stir ; 
My  boy's  been  sick,  and  now  he  isn't  well, 
If  you'll  take  hold,  I'll  hire  you  for  a  spell." 

cxx. 

Will  said  he  would  accept,  with  due  respect, 
And  after  supper,  went  and  milked  the  cow, 

And  did  whate'er  the  other  might  direct ; 

Went  up  and  got  his  bag,  and  told  them  how 

He'd  been  examined,  not  in  intellect, 
But  on  his  muscle,  as  a  teacher,  "  Now," 

He  said,  "  I'll  wait  another  year,  and  then, 

To  get  a  winter  school  will  try  again." 

cxxi. 

He  was  a  man  of  all  work,  so  to  speak, 

As  those  in  such  positions  always  are ; 
Had  seven  days  to  labor  in  the  week, 

To  fetch  and  carry,  whether  near  or  far ; 
Kept  up  the  fires,  for  then  'twas  cold  and  bleak, 
.     And  not  infrequently  he  tended  bar ; 
Sold  brandy,  rum  and  gin  to  all  who  came, 
Although  he  did  it  in  another's  name. 

cxxn. 

And  yet  he  found  some  little  time  to  read, 

And  some  to  play  old  sledge  and  euchre,  though 

An  innovation  on  his  simple  creed, 

In  playing  games,  had  somehow  seemed  to  grow 


122 


In  favor  with  the  boys  whom  now,  indeed, 

He  was  compelled  to  play  with,  or  forego 
His  playing  altogether,  as  he  should, 
But  compromised  with  evil  and  with  good. 

cxxm. 

As  many  do  in  this,  our  mundane  sphere, 
By  doing  good  and  evil  deeds  by  turns ; 

Or  partly  doing  what  it  seems  quite  clear 

Should  be  excluded  from  the  world's  concerns  ; 

Resisting  much,  with  purposes  sincere, 
Although  the  moral  lamp  so  feebly  burns, 

And  sheds  its  light  with  such  a  flickering  sheen, 

As  not,  at  tunes,  to  be  distinctly  seen. 

cxxiv. 

"  Don't  ever  gamble,"  was  a  rule  laid  down 

By  George,  when  coming,  as  they  rode  along, 
"  No  sooner  for  a  penny  than  a  crown, 

Because  the  principle  is  wholly  wrong. 
Although  solicited  by  king  or  clown, 
The  evil  influence  however  strong, 
Don't  ever  do  it,  as  none  ever  should." 
And  Will  responded  that  he  never  would. 

cxxv. 

A  promise  isn't  much,  and  yet  it  may 

Just  turn  the  scale  'twixt  purpose  and  desire  ; 

And  in  a  bitter  conflict  keep  at  bay, 

The  beast  of  passion,  with  his  eyes  of  fire : 

The  ghost  of  sore  temptation  help  to  lay, 
And  chant  its  requiem  on  the  golden  lyre 

Of  virtue  in  its  triumph,  largely  due 

To  honest  pledges  to  be  just  and  true. 


123 


CXXVI. 


One  night  when  Will  .had  worked  about  a  week, 
He  being  in  the  bar-room  down  below, 

A  German  barber,  who  had  learned  to  speak 
The  English  language  with  a  ready  flow, 

And  knew  as  much  of  cribbage,  whist,  bezique, 
And  other  games,  as  most  young  fellows  know  — 

Whose  shop  another  basement  room  was  in  — 

Approached  the  bar  and  asked  him  for  some  gin. 

cxxvu. 

There  also  sat  beneath  the  chandelier, 

At  least  beneath  the  single  lamp,  which  hung 

Above  a  table  standing  pretty  near 

The  corner  of  the  bar,  whereon  it  flung 

Its  dazzling  rays  in  token  of  good  cheer, 
And  shed  its  light  of  varied  hues  among 

The  bottles  and  decanters  standing  there, 

Three  more  young  fellows,  who  should  all  beware. 

CXXVIII. 

One  was  a  farmer's  son  who  often  came 

Into  the  village  on  a  lowery  day, 
And,  rather  careless  of  his  own  good  name, 

He  would  at  times,  indulge  in  drink  and  play ; 
Although  he  hadn't  learned  each  "  little  game," 

By  which  the  sharpers  often  get  away 
With  simple  folk,  so  foolish  as  to  try 
What  they  are  pretty  sure  of  losing  by. 

cxxix, 

Another  was  a  clerk,  who'd  just  come  in 

From  his  employer's  store  ;  who  boarded  there  ; 

The  other  played  upon  the  violin, 

At  dancing  parties,  where  the  young  and  fair 


124  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

So  oft  indulge  in  this  peculiar  sin, 

If  'tis  a  sin,  as  many  would  declare, 
Though  I  will  not ;  but  think  perhaps  it  might 
Be  held  as  harmless  if  conducted  right. 

cxxx. 

The  barber  said,  "  Come  boys,  let's  take  a  drink ;  " 

And  thereupon  the  others  gathered  round. 
"  Take  what  you  like."     The  fiddler  said,  "  I  think 
I'll  take  some  brandy."     After  some  profound 

Reflection,  which  might  well  have  made  him  shrink 
From  treading  farther  on  such  dangerous  ground, 

The  clerk  said,  ;<  1  will  take  some  beer  I  guesss" 

As  did  the  farmer,  for  its  harmlessness, 

cxxxi. 

0  thou,  King  Alcohol !  thy  legions  slay 
Their  many  thousand  victims  every  year  ; 

Approaching  in  such  surreptitious  way 

As  least  alarms  them,  with  thy  wine  and  beer. 

Oh,  would  some  moral  giant  come  and  lay 
Thee  low  forever ;  for  I  deem  thy  peer, 

In  deeds  of  wickedness,  could  not  again 

Be  found  to  decimate  the  ranks  of  men. 

cxxxn. 

The  barber  said  again,  "  Had  we  some  cards, 
I'd  now  propose  a  game  of  poker,  though 

My  pile  is  not  as  big  as  old  Girard's, 

And  you  are  sharpers,  as  I  chance  to  know ; 

Yet  with  a  recklessness  which  disregards 
All  consequences,  if  for  weal  or  woe, 

1  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  try  a  hand, 

Of  course  for  pleasure,  as  you  understand." 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  125 

CXXXIII. 

They  got  the  cards,  and  they  were  white  and  clean, 
They  staked  some  money  to  make  up  "  the  pool," 

And  while  they  sought  each  other's  wealth  to  glean, 
Will  sat  philosophizing  on  his  stool. 

'Twas  such  a  sight  as  he  had  never  seen, 
The  education  of  a  novel  school ; 

Which  he,  however,  by  his  pledge,  had  been 

Prohibited  from  taking  lessons  in. 

cxxxiv. 

He  thought  of  what  his  father  always  taught, 
That  playing  cards  led  straight  to  gambling ;  yet 

His  brother  George,  who  played,  had  only  sought 
To  so  impress  him  that  he  shouldn't  bet ; 

And  he  had  promised,  as  he  clearly  ought, 
To  never  do  it,  but  to  firmly  set 

His  face  against  it,  as  he  thought  he'd  done, 

But  found  the  task  was  scarcely  yet  begun. 

cxxxv. 

The  barber  dealt,  and  managed,  unobserved, 
To  deal  himself  six  cards  instead  of  five ; 

And  then  withdrawing  one  from  those  which  served 
For  present  use  —  that  future  hands  might  thrive  — 

And  with  design  from  which  he  never  swerved, 
He  put  it  in  his  sleeve,  to  so  contrive 

To  keep  it  from  the  other  players'  ken, 

Until  the  next  in  turn  should  deal  again. 

CXXXVI. 

And  when  the  others  dealt,  of  course  he  would 
Again  have  six,  from  which  he  might  select, 

By  (-.hanging  them  about,  as  best  he  could  — 
When  they  would  not  be  likely  to  detect 


126 

The  movement  —  so  to  keep  his  number  good, 

By  methods  not  considered  quite  correct, 
By  honest  players  of  an  honest  game ; 
Which  would  on  him  have  brought  no  little  blame, 

cxxxvu. 

If  they  had  been  discovered,  like  the  play 

The  Heathen  Chinee  made  with  William  Nye ; 

But  as  it  was,  the  others  couldn't  say 

That  he  had  not  played  honestly ;  and  why 

He  often  held  much  better  hands  than  they, 
They  only  could  conjecture.     By  and  by, 

The  farmer's  boy,  however,  grew  suspicious, 

And  went  away,  more  wise  and  less  ambitious, 

CXXXVIII. 

In  that  direction ;  and  with  less  of  cash, 

And  reputation,  than  he  had  before. 
'Tis  true  that  "  he  that  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash," 

But  these  young  men  had  stolen  something  more 
From  one  another  ;  and  he  now  would  «  dash 

The  wine  cup  down,"  and  solemnly  he  swore 
He'd  never  bet  again ;  a  virtuous  vow, 
Which  he,  for  aught  I  know,  has  kept  till  now. 

cxxxix. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  barber  turned  and  said, 
"  Perhaps  this  new  bar  tender  here  would  play ; " 

But  Will,  when  thus  invited,  shook  his  head, 
And  said  he  didn't  know  the  game  which  they 

Were  playing  then,  he'd  played  old  sledge  instead, 
Although  he'd  played  but  little  any  way, 

And  wouldn't  play  for  money  if  he  could, 

As  he  had  promised  that  he  never  would. 


WISDOM.  127 

CXL. 

"  That's  well  enough,"  the  barber  said,  "  and  yet 
All  games  would  lose  their  interest  for  me, 

If  playing  them,  I  didn't  lose  or  get 

Some  money  out  of  it,  as  there  would  be 

No  such  excitement  as  a  little  bet 

Affords  the  player,  just  enough  to  see 

If  fortune  favors  him,  or  'see'  perchance, 

The  hand  some  one  has  bet  on  in  advance." 

CXLI. 

And  then,  continuing,  he  said,  "  If  this 

Young  man  will  play,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do, 

I'll  take  him  for  a  partner,  hit  or  miss, 

And  play  old  sledge  for  just  a  game  or  two ;" 

As  if  he  would  betray  him  with  a  kiss, 

Which  many  a  worthy  youth  has  fallen  through, 

Since  Jesus  was  betrayed  in  that  same  way, 

And  many  more,  perhaps,  before  his  day. 

CXLII. 

Will  still  replied  he  couldn't  play  for  stakes ; 
"  You  needn't,"  said  the  other,  "  I  will  stand 

For  both,  and  lose  or  win  what  our  side  makes 
Or  loses,  while  you  help  me  play  the  hand. 
I'll  risk  you ;  we  ourselves  are  no  great  shakes, 

At  any  game ;"  and  with  a  smile  so  bland, 
And  words  so  soft,  he  o'erpersuaded  him, 
Although  the  argument  was  pretty  slim. 

CXLIII. 

Will  went  around  and  took  the  vacant  chair 
The  farmer  boy  had  sat  in  ;  and  they  played 

For  twenty  cents  a  game,  each  player's  share 
Thus  being  five,  which  on  the  board  was  laid, 


128  AVILLOTJGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

The  barber  having  twice  the  interest  there, 

The  others  had,  while  Will  no  wager  made ; 
But  played  his  hand  as  wisely  as  he  could, 
His  partner  saying  it  was  very  good. 

CXLIV. 

At  any  rate,  when  they  had  played  a  spell, 

And  had  decided  it  was  time  to  quit, 
The  barber's  wallet  had  been  made  to  swell, 

By  further  winnings  being  put  in  it ; 
Though  not  so  much,  perhaps,  that  Will  played  well, 

As  by  his  own  superior  talent,  wit, 
Or  skill  or  knowledge,  enterprise,  or  what 
You  please,  whereby  he  carried  out  his  plot. 

CXLV. 

The  game  was  finished,  but  the  party  sat 

Around  the  table  for  a  little  yet, 
Though  hardly  in  a  mood  for  friendly  chat, 

As  each  was  entertaining  some  regret, 
Except  the  barber ;  and  as  being  pat 

To  such  occasion,  and  in  hopes  to  set 
The  tide  of  feeling  in  the  right  direction, 
He  sang  the  following  song  for  their  reflection. 

BRIER  AND  THORN.* 

Should  fortune  sometimes  coldly  smile, 

Should  fate  defeat  some  fond  design, 
Should  hope  deceive,  or  love  beguile, 

Or  friends  desert,  or  foes  malign : 
Remember  sorrow  comes  to  all, 

To  disappointment  all  are  born, 
Some  grief  may  every  joy  forestall, 

As  every  rose  has  brier  and  thorn. 

*  See  sheet  music  by  publishers  of  book,  in  the  absence  of  which,  sing 
In  Bonny  Doon. 


129 


Should  best  endeavors  be  in  vain, 

Should  prospects  fail  which  seemed  so  fair, 
Should  pleasure  only  purchase  pain, 

Or  find  some  deeply  hidden  snare ; 
Should  chance  and  circumstance  conspire 

To  render  highest  hopes  forlorn, 
Remember  still  the  thorn  and  brier, 

That  every  rose  has  brier  and  thorn. 

But,  though  misfortunes  darkly  lower, 

Although  the  sky  be  overcast, 
Although  there's  many  a  cheerless  hour, 

The  happier  days  may  come  at  last; 
However  dark  the  night  may  be, 

At  length  awakes  the  brightening  morn, 
When  hearts  may  be  from  sorrow  free, 

The  rose  be  free  from  brier  and  thorn. 


CXLVI. 

The  clerk  and  fiddler  gone,  the  barber  stepped 
Before  the  bar,  and  on  the  counter  laid 

A  dollar  bill,  which  Will  would  please  accept,, 
In  compensation  for  his  timely  aid. 

He  hesitated  some  before  he  kept 

The  money  thus  for  such  a  service  paid", 

But  finally  he  yielded  to  the  whim, 

By  which  the  other  had  rewarded  him. 

CXLVII. 

The  barber  said  good  night  and  walked  away; 

Will  closed  the  bar  and  went  up-stairs  to  bed ; 
"  Don't  ever  gamble,"  he  could  hear  George  say, 

"  I  never  will,"  kept  running  through  his  head  : 
His  mother  taught  him  every  night  to  pray, 

Which  he  neglected  now,  although  he  said, 
At  least  said  mentally,  before  he  slept, 
"  I  thank  kind  Heaven  for  the  promise  kept." 


130  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

CXLVIII. 

O  grace!  thou  savest  by  a  single  hair, 
Sometimes  from  actual  and  deadly  sin; 

And  many  a  saint  has  just  escaped  the  snare 
That  many  a  sinner  has  been  taken  in ; 

Or  may  have  had,  at  least,  not  much  to  spare, 

Between  what  was  and  that  which  might  have  been, 

And  Will  had  little  when  he  thus  had  played, 

And  such  a  nice  discrimination  made. 

cxLix. 

So  Job  escaped  one  time,  you  recollect, 
From  sore  affliction,  and  from  underneath 

The  hand  of  death,  when  he  could  scarce  expect 
To  see  the  sword  returning  to  its  sheath ; 

When  all  the  margin  which  he  could  detect, 
Was  just  the  outer  membrane  on  his  teeth ; 

A  margin  which  —  to  Will's  somewhat  akin  — 

May  be  regarded  as  a  little  thin. 

CL. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  there  came  again, 

An  opportunity  for  Will  to  play, 
With  this  same  barber  and  two  other  men, 

Which  he  consented  to  ;  that  is  to  say, 
His  partner  took  the  chances,  now  as  then, 

And  got  the  best  of  them,  and  got  away 
With  several  dollars,  by  some  indirection, 
Which  still  he  practised,  and  without  detection. 

CLI. 

And  when  the  game  was  done,  he  gave  to  Will, 

A  small  percentage,  as  he  had  before, 
Of  that  which  he  had  gained  ;  and  sought  to  fill 

His  heart  with  love  of  such  peculiar  lore 


131 

As  gamblers  use.     "  You've  played  quite  well,  but  still," 

He  smiling  said,  "  there  may  be  something  more, 
That  I  could  tell  you  if  you  cared  to  know, 
Although  for  now,  perhaps  we'll  let  it  go." 

CLII. 

Thus  matters  ran  along  a  month  or  two* 
Will  drifting  slowly  downward  in  the  tide  ; 

Though  he  to  all  his  pledges  yet  was  true, 
Grim  vice  and  virtue  running  side  by  side, 

As  they  have  often  done  with  people  who 

Have  loved  the  one  while  they  have  feebly  tried 

To  cultivate  the  other  more  or  less, 

By  deeds  of  charity  or  righteousness. 

CLIII. 

He  didn't  seem  to  fully  realize 

That  he  was  letting  down  his  moral  tone, 

Though  that  could  scarcely  have  been  otherwise, 
With  common  vices  so  familiar  grown, 

With  none  to  cheer,  admonish  or  advise, 
No  arm  to  lean  upon  except  his  own, 

And  so  surrounded  as  he  had  been  here, 

By  such  a  murky  moral  atmosphere. 

CLIV. 

Just  after  New  Year's,  of  an  afternoon, 
As  Will  was  studying,  a  leisure  hour  — 

For  still  he  coveted  the  precious  boon 
Of  education,  with  its  magic  power, 

And  like  a  lover  gazing  at  the  moon, 
Behind  the  lattice  of  a  lady's  bower, 

He  dreamed  of  happiness  which  by  and  by, 

He  should  enjoy  beneath  a  cloudless  sky  — 


132 


CLV. 


He  heard  somebody  coming  through  the  door ; 

And  when  he  looked  around,  who  should  it  be 
But  Mr.  Jones,  whom  he  had  known  before, 

The  school  committee  whom  he  went  to  see  ? 
And  who,  approaching  him,  remarked,  "  'Twas  more 

To  run  that  school  than  my  man  thought  for  :  he 
Began  with  no  misgivings,  fear  or  doubt, 
But  only  yesterday  they  put  him  out. 

CLVI. 

"  And  I've  come  down,"  he  then  went  on  to  say, 

"  To  see  if  you  would  like  to  go  and  try 
To  keep  it  out  by  your  peculiar  way 

Of  governing  by  kindness  now,  though  I 
Have  little  confidence  in  such  boys'  play, 

But  something  must  be  done,  and  by  and  by  — 
Yes,  right  away,  if  you  should  not  succeed, 
I'll  get  a  sheriff,  which  is  what  they  need. 

CLVII. 

"  There's  one  good  thing,"  continued  he,  "  with  you, 
You  seem  to  like  your  studies  pretty  well, 

I  guess  you  never  mingle  with  the  crew 
My  boy  saw  round  that  table  there  a  spell 

Ago,  for  they  were  gambling,  as  he  knew, 
Although  he  didn't  know,  or  didn't  tell, 

Just  who  they  were,  except  the  barber  here, 

And  he  was  cheating  like  a  modern  seer." 

CLVIII. 

Will  wasn't  flattered,  but  chagrined  by  this, 
He  felt  rebuked  not  only,  but  he  saw 

Some  little  likelihood  that  he  might  miss 
His  opportunity,  through  that  same  flaw 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  133 

Of  reputation  ;  and  the  deep  abyss, 

Which  he'd  been  standing  over,  yet  might  draw 
Him  in,  and  Mr.  Jones  perhaps  might  find 
What  he  had  really  done,  and  change  his  mind. 

CLIX. 

lie  said,  however,  that  he  would  accept 

The  situation,  if  they  could  agree, 
Provided  Mr.  Redington,  who  kept 

The  house,  could  spare  him ;  and  he'd  go  and  see : 
But  first  he  hurriedly  and  slyly  crept 

Up  stairs  and  packed  his  things,  that  he  might  be 
All  ready  when  he  got  permission,  so 
As  not  to  leave  the  landlord  down  below, 

CLX. 

With  Mr.  Jones,  for  fear  there  might  be  done, 

Some  mischief  with  the  tongue ;  which  would  have  been 

No  new  phenomenon  beneath  the  sun, 
As  that  is  not  the  most  uncommon  sin 

That  plagues  humanity ;  which  every  one 
Has  neighbors  who  are  oft  indulging  in, 

To  speak  of  others'  failings  now  and  then  — 

And  they  are  common  with  the  best  of  men. 

CLXI. 

He  then  found  Mr.  Redington,  who  made 

Upon  his  services  no  further  claim ; 
"  In  fact,"  he  said,  "  already  you  have  stayed 

Beyond  what  I  expected  when  you  came," 
And  what  he  owed  him,  he  went  in  and  paid, 

And  he  and  Mrs.  R.,  a  genial  dame, 
Expressed  the  wish  that  he  might  prosper  still, 
And  Mr.  Jones  and  he  rode  up  the  hill. 


134  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

CLXII. 

«  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  you've  got  the  boy," 
On  seeing  them  come  in,  "  perhaps  he  can, 

Some  boyish  or  some  cunning  arts  employ, 
That  wouldn't  suit  so  well  an  older  man ; 

I'm  sure,"  she  said  to  him,  "we  shall  enjoy 
Your  being  here,  I  wished  when  school  began, 

Or  pretty  soon  at  least,  we'd  taken  you  — 

Here's  my  boy  Fred,  I  know  he's  good  and  true." 

CLXIII. 

When  introduced  to  Mrs.  Jones's  son, 

Will  thought  the  latter  turned  a  little  pale, 

As  he  himself  quite  likely  would  have  done, 
With  change  of  circumstances  in  the  tale 

That  hung  thereby.     He  knew  him  as  the  one 
Who  came  into  the  bar  room,  drank  the  ale, 

And  played  at  poker  several  weeks  before, 

Whose  seat  he  took  when  Fred  would  play  no  more. 

CLXIV. 

And  now  the  new  schoolmaster,  as  he  thought, 
Might  not,  perhaps,  regard  him  as  an  equal, 

But  an  inferior,  who  should  be  taught, 
And  taught  that  dissipation  has  a  sequel ; 

Especially  when  he  was  fairly  caught, 

By  one  who  knew  his  habits  didn't  speak  well 

For  former  training,  and  for  education 

In  ways  too  common  in  the  Yankee  nation. 

CLXV. 

Said  Will,  "  I  think  I've  seen  your  face  before." 
The  other  nothing  said,  but  looked  his  answer ; 

Which  was,  "  For  heaven's  sake  say  nothing  more," 
For  memory  stung  him  like  a  moral  cancer. 


WILLOTJGHBY'S  WISDOM.  135 

He  felt  uncertain  if  he'd  best  implore 

His  secrecy,  or  say,  "  I'm  not  the  man,  sir, 
You're  quite  mistaken,"  if  he  should  suggest 
The  circumstances,  but  was  set  at  rest, 

CLXVI. 

By  Will's  observing  in  a  kindly  way, 
"'Twas  in  the  bar  room  if  I  recollect, 
Some  time  ago ;  and  now  I  trust  we  may, 

As  time  goes  on,  be  friends  ;  and  I  expect 
To  need  some  kind  assistance,  as  they  say 

That  several  boys  who  voted  to  reject 
My  predecessor's  further  teaching,  will, 
Quite  likely,  make  the  same  objection  still." 

CLXVII. 

The  mother  answered  for  the  boy  again, 
"  He'll  help  you  what  he  can  to  keep  'em  steady, 
He'll  be  a  sort  of  spy,  and  tell  you  when 

There's  trouble  coming,  so  you  may  be  ready  ;  — 
But  we'll  have  supper  now,  here  come  the  men, 

From  chopping  wood ;  sit  down  right  there  by  Freddie, 
He'll  wait  upon  you  if  I  shouldn't  think 
To  give  you  what  you  want  to  eat  or  drink." 

I 

CLXVIII. 

When  grace  was  said,  as  common  Christian  use  is, 
Or  was  with  Mr.  Jones,  his  wife  declared 

That  she  should  not  attempt  to  make  excuses 
About  her  supper,  though  it  was  prepared 

A  little  hastily.     And  where  the  deuce  is 
The  sense  in  telling  people  who  have  shared 

Your  hospitality,  that  tisn't  good  ? 

Which  Mrs.  Jones  at  least,  scarce  ever  would. 


136  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

CLXIX. 

She  said,  in  fact,  she  fancied  she  could  COOK, 

About  as  well  as  any  of  them  did, 
When,  having  time,  she  really  undertook 

To  thus  exhibit  what  her  pantry  hid: 
She  also  could,  by  word  or  act  or  look, 

While  granting  some,  some  other  things  forbid  ; 
As  now,  although  her  food  was  good  and  ample, 
She  had  one  thing  she  meant  they  shouldn't  sample. 

CLXX. 

She  asked  her  husoand  if  he'd  have  some  pie; 

Though  she  remarked  that  it  was  rather  new, 
And  not  as  good  as  'twould  be  by  and  by, 
"Not  any?  no?  nor  you?  nor  you  ?  nor  you  ?" 
She  said,  as,  holding  it  up  pretty  high, 

She  moved  it  towards  each  one,  and  quickly  drew 
It  back,  before  they  could  have  answered  no 
Or  yes.     «  Then  I  won't  cut  it ;  let  it  go." 

CLXXI. 

She  thought  she'd  like  to  save  it,  and  besides, 

She  loved  the  "  cunning  arts  "  which  she  suggested 

That  Will  might  use  if  evil  should  betide, 

Or  from  his  grasp  the  sceptre  should  be  wrested  ; 

Or  thus  avert  the  evil,  thus  to  guide 

The  sceptred  hand  and  sway,  still  unmolested ; 

As  she  appeared  to  do  in  her  affairs, 

Her  household  being  governed  unawares. 

CLXXII. 

Not  strictly  honest,  she  was  very  good  ; 

Like  some  that  I  have  seen  ;  and  vice  versay 
I've  known  an  honest  man  who  never  could 
Be  found  at  any  deed  of  love  or  mercy  ; 


137 

Although  to  principle  he  firmly  stood, 

Unchanging  as  the  stars  in  Major  Ursa ;  — 
And  some,  not  very  good  have  seemed  to  me, 
Nor  honest  either  to  a  high  degree. 

CLXXIII. 

That  night,  it  being  time  to  go  to  bed, 

As  Mrs.  Jones  suggested,  Fred  and  Will 
Went  up  together,  for  he  roomed  with  Fred, 

Up  in  the  parlor  chamber,  cold  and  still. 
"  I'll  come  and  take  the  light  away,"  she  said, 

"  And  tuck  you  up,"  as  so  she  did,  until 
She'd  got  them  fixed  as  nicely  as  she  might, 
And  then  she  kissed  them  both  and  said  good  night. 

CLXXIV. 

And  Fred  inquired,  "  Do  you  remember  when 

You  saw  me  in  the  bar  room  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  I  do ; " 
And  he  continued,  "Well,  I  swore  off  then, 

From  playing  poker  and  from  drinking,  too." 
«  That's  right,"  said  Will,  "  don't  ever  play  again, 

Or  -drink  with  any  one,  no  matter  who." 

Fred  said  he  wouldn't,  "  but  I  hope,"  said  he, 

"  You'll  never  tell  them  what  you  know  of  me. 

CLXXV. 

"  And  you  may  know,  perhaps,  as  I  believe, 
The  barber  cheated  us  like  thunderation ; 

And  stole  the  cards,  and  stuck  'em  in  his  sleeve ; 
At  least  I  thought  so  from  my  observation  : 

My  father  asked  me  if  I  could  conceive 
Of  honest  gambling,  when,  in  explanation 

Of  where  I  was,  I  told  him  I  went  in 

And  saw  them  play,  and  saw  the  barber  win." 


138 


CLXXVI. 

Will  said  he  didn't  know,  but  shouldn't  be 
At  all  surprised  to  learn  that  it  was  so  ; 
"  But  then,"  he  said,  "  he  never  cheated  me, 

And  that  is  something  I  am  glad  to  know  " 
(A  show  of  virtue  which  we  often  see), 

"  Nor  will  he  you  again  unless  you  go 
Where  he  can  get  a  chance,  which  now  you  say 
You  never  will ;  I  trust  you  never  may." 

CLXXVII. 

Said  Mr.  Jones,  next  morning,  "  Have  you  got 

No  rule,  no  preparation  for  a  fight  ?  " 
"  I  have  no  rule,"  said  Willoughby,  "  I  thought 
If  they  were  bound  to  put  me  out,  they  might ; 

Which  they,  of  course,  can  do  as  well  as  not, 
Unless  I  make  them  think  it  isn't  right, 

Or  isn't  best  for  them,  as  I  expect 

To  do,  unless  all  reason  they  reject." 

CLXXVIII. 

Then  he  and  Fred  set  off,  and  on  the  way, 
Fred  told  him  who  the  "  ugly  fellows  "  were, 

And  he  was  studying  what  he  could  say, 
That  should  invite  no  possible  demur, 

And  laying  plans  for  getting  through  the  day, 
And  hoping  nothing  serious  might  occur, 

Until  they  reached  the  noisy  schoolhouse,  where 

Fred  introduced  as  many  as  were  there. 

CLXXIX. 

Will  rapped  his  fingers  lightly  on  the  table, 

And  said  'twas  time  to  then  begin  the  school, 
And  made  such  wise  remarks  as  he  was  able, 
"  I  come,"  he  said,  "  with  neither  rod  nor  rule ; 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  139 

A  government  by  force  is  too  unstable  ;  "  — 

One  whispered  to  another,  "  He's  a  fool, 
To  think  in  this  school  he  can  govern  so, 
Let's  lick  him."    "  Lick  him  ?  "  said  the  other,  «  no ; 

CLXXX. 

"  We'd  all  be  fools  to  lick  a  master  who 

Has  no  conveniences  for  lickin'  us ; 
If  that's  the  way  the  fellow's  goin'  to  do, 

I'll  never  try  to  make  a  bit  of  fuss  ; 
And  by  the  great  horn  spoon,  I'll  help  him  too, 

If  ever  he  should  get  into  a  muss, 
I  tell  you  that's  the  kind  of  folks  I  like, 
And  I  propose  that  we  stand  by  him,  Ike." 

CLXXXI. 

Thus  having  told  them  what  they  might  expect, 
He  mildly  said,  "  we'll  now  make  up  our  classes  ;  " 

And  they  were  ready,  as  he  might  direct, 
And  with  a  willingness  that  far  surpasses 

All  forced  endeavor  of  the  intellect, 

In  gaining  knowledge  which  the  mind  amasses, 

They  went  to  their  legitimate  vocation, 

With  no  design  of  insubordination. 

CLXXXII. 

How  well  the  teacher  had  been  qualified, 
For  such  a  task  as  he  had  undertaken, 

By  way  of  scholarship,  may  be  implied; 
His  own  self-confidence  was  not  unshaken, 

Although  at  present  he  had  only  tried, 
Their  moral  sensibilities  to  waken ; 

Yet  his  attainments  had  been  something  more 

Than  A  B  C  in  scientific  lore. 


140 


CLXXXIII. 


His  grammar  was  at  least  as  good  as  that 

We  see  on  tombstones,  signs  and  railway  stations  ; 

And  in  the  cars,  I  often  marvel  at 

The  wondrous  learning  of  the  corporations ; 

Or  those  who  manage  them,  who  may  have  sat 
In  legislative  halls  of  states  or  nations ; 

But  haven't  wit  enough  in  many  cases, 

To  put  their  commas  in  their  proper  places. 

CLXXXIV. 

And  memory  suggests  an  instance,  where 
A  leading  road  has  made  a  handsome  show 

Of  station  buildings.     Should  you  happen  there, 
And  have  the  curiosity  to  know 

How  learned  they  are,  and  have  the  time  to  spare, 
Go  on  the  platform,  where  the  others  go, 

And  you  will  see,  as  tidy  as  a  broom, 

The  stylish  entrance  to  the  "  Ladie's  Room." 

CLXXXV. 

At  one  state  capital,  if  you  should  still 

Have  further  leisure  to  investigate, 
And  it  should  happen,  as  it  often  will, 

That  in  the  ladies'  room  you  chance  to  wait, 
You'll  see  where  "  Ticket's,"  with  a  master's  skill, 

Are  duly  advertised ;  and  I  might  state 
More  cases  of  the  kind  than  you  would  care 
To  read,  if  I  had  time  and  space  to  spare. 

CLXXXVI. 

There  lived  a  blacksmith,  sometime  in  the  past, 
Whose  shop  was  shaded  by  some  maple  trees, 

Along  Mad  River,  where  his  lot  was  cast, 

Whose  learning  would  compare  with  some  of  these  *, 


141 


For  when  the  angels  came  for  him  at  last, 

He  left  his  ledger  to  his  legatees, 
Which  many  balances  were  still  uncrossed  in, 
And  one  was  duly  charged  to  "  olesam  osten." 

CLXXXVII. 

It  may  be  reckoned  in  a  man  like  me, 

Somewhat  ungenerous  to  criticise 
My  neighbors'  blunderings,  when  all  can  see 

That  I  myself  am  not  extremely  wise ; 
At  least  not  cultured  to  a  high  degree, 

But  then  'tis  customary  to  advise 
Our,  fellows  of  their  faults,  no  matter  though 
Our  own  be  greater,  as  the  world  may  know. 

CLXXXVIII. 

But  to  my  story ;  for  I  must  begin, 
More  rapidly  to  hasten  to  the  end, 

Which  at  the  best  is  still  some  distance  in 
The  future  of  events.     If  heaven  send 

Such  inspiration  as  shall  serve  to  win 

The  kind  approval  of  each  reading  friend, 

I  shall,  however,  have  been  richly  paid, 

For  all  pains  taken  and  all  efforts  made. 

CLXXXIX. 

Will  had  no  trouble  with  the  scholars  who, 
When  justly  treated,  could  be  just  in  turn ; 

Or  all  at  least  excepting  one  or  two, 

Whose  discontent,  at  first  gave  some  concern, 

But  they  began,  before  the  term  was  through, 
Ere  many  days,  in  fact,  began  to  learn, 

That  opposition  to  so  mild  a  rule, 

Was  not  to  be  encouraged  by  the  school. 


142  WILLOUGHBT'S  WISDOM. 

cxc. 

The  term  was  finished,  Will  had  got  liis  pay, 
And  felt  quite  satisfied,  with  ample  reason  ; 

Was  asked  to  promise,  ere  he  went  away, 
That  he  would  not  engage  another  season, 

Till  Mr.  Jones  had  seen  him ;  which  to  say, 
He  deemed  would  be  a  sort  of  moral  treason 

Against  his  liberty,  and  so  he  said 

He'd  see  a  little  later  on,  instead. 

cxci. 

Then  light  of  heart  and  with  a  heavy  purse, 

That  is  to  say,  a  heavy  one  for  him, 
From  which,  however,  he  must  soon  disburse, 
By  sending  home,  enough  to  make  it  slim 
Again  —  than  which  a  thousand  things  were  worse 

He  sought  the  village,  there  his  sails  to  trim, 
For  such  fair  winds  as  might  perchance  arise, 
To  waft  him  onward  'neath  the  summer  skies. 

CXCII. 

In  teaching  others,  he  himself  was  taught, 
Or  rather  had  imbibed  some  higher  notions, 

Concerning  problems  which  were  never  wrought 
Completely  out  by  all  the  world's  devotions, 

To  science  or  religion ;  which  have  sought, 
By  theological  and  moral  potions, 

To  put  the  world  upon  its  good  behavior ; 

To  find  from  sin  a  universal  savior. 

CXCIII. 

And  men  of  ethics  have  debated  whether 

All  things  were  sinful  that  might  lead  to  sin ; 

And  oft  confounded  right  and  wrong  together, 
At  times  apparently  somewhat  akin ; 


143 


And  left  the  boundaries  of  virtue's  tether  — 

Where  that  should  justly  end  and  vice  begin  — 
But  ill  defined,  and  sometimes  nearly  gone ; 
And  these  my  hero  had  been  studying  on. 

cxciv. 

That  he  already  had  been  quite  beyond 
The  strictest  moral  bounds,  he  was  aware ; 

At  least  in  some  directions,  being  fond 
Of  that  which  led  him  to  the  evil  snare, 

Though  what  was  stipulated  in  the  bond 
Of  pledge  and  promise,  he  had  taken  care, 

If  not  in  spirit,  should  be  kept  in  form, 

A  partial  shelter  from  the  threatening  storm. 

cxcv. 

He  now,  however,  had  made  up  his  mind 
That  he  would  keep  it  in  an  honest  way, 

No  matter  whether  otherwise  inclined, 

No  matter  what  somebody  else  might  say ; 

But  oft  it  happens,  when  we  have  designed 
To  put  away  our  sins  without  delay, 

And  keep  them  hid,  as  well  as  put  to  rout, 

That  past  offences  somehow  find  us  out. 

cxcvi. 

Will  went  and  saw  the  Redingtons,  and  then 
The  Mrs.  Reed  whose  husband  owned  the  mill, 

And  she  expressed  much  satisfaction  when 
She  heard  of  his  success ;  but  there  was  still 

A  query  in  her  looks.     She  said  again, 
"  I've  heard  an  ugly  thing  about  you,  Will ; 

The  landlord  said  that,  though  he  liked  you  well, 

You  gambled  some.     Now  is  it  true,  pray  tell  ?  " 


144 


CXCVII. 


"  No  ma'am,"  said  Will,  "  it  isn't  true,  and  yet 

I  may  have  given  that  impression ;  I 
Have  played  in  games  wherein  the  others  bet, 

And  laid  their  money  on  the  board  close  by ; 
And  those  who  saw  us  playing,  might  have  set 

Me  down  as  one  of  them."     "  No  reason  why 
They  shouldn't,"  said  the  other,  "  but  I'm  glad 
To  hear  you  say  it  isn't  quite  as  bad 

CXCVIII. 

As  I  had  heard.     How  did  it  happen,  though?" 
He  told  her  of  the  facts,  the  conversation 

Between  the  barber  and  himself,  to  show 
That  he  declined  at  each  solicitation, 

To  play  for  money,  as  my  readers  know ; 
And  Mrs.  Reed  declared  the  explanation 

Was  not  unsatisfactory ;  "  but  then," 

She  said,  "  don't  ever  go  so  far  again. 

cxcix. 

Don't  play  with  those  who  gamble  any  way ; 

And  this  reminds  me,"  still  continued  she, 
"  That  yesterday  I  heard  my  husband  say 

He  some  expected,  pretty  soon,  that  he 
Should  have  to  get  some  one  to  come  and  stay, 

And  help  the  man  that  sorts  the  wool.     'Twould  be 
A  better  place  for  you  than  'twould  be  where 
You  were  before ;  they're  too  immoral  there. 

cc. 

And  then  besides,  when  you  were  tending  bar, 
'Twas  not  by  any  means  a  safe  position, 

For  one  so  young ;  how  many  men  there  are 
Who  owe  their  sad  and  destitute  condition 


WISDOM.  145 

To  dissipation  ;  and  it*  isn't  far 

From  selling  drinks  to  drink ;  a  thin  partition 
Is  that  between  them,  as  a  rule,  I  think, 
For  those  that  sell,  they  say  most  always  drink.'* 

cci. 

Will  said  he  had  no  appetite  for  rum, 

But  used  to  think,  when  he  was  selling  it, 

When  some  poor  drinking  fellow  used  to  come, 
That  'twas  a  business  which  was  hardly  fit 

To  get  a  living  by,  and  he  had  some 

Misgivings  then,  as  well  as  since  he  quit ; 

Nor  did  he  now  expect  to  work  again 

In  such  position  as  he  had  done  then. 

ecu. 

The  Mr.  McElroy  who  sorted  wool, 
Was  oldish  now  and  wasn't  very  well, 

And  he  had  had  a  long  and  steady  pull, 
And  chronic  ailments  he  could  not  dispel ; 

Until  his  hands  were  rather  more  than  full* 
With  all  the  duties  which  upon  him  fell, 

And  Mr.  Reed  had  thought  it  might  be  best,, 

A  little  later,  he  should  have  a  rest. 

com. 

And  so  he  offered  Will  a  situation, 

As  his  assistant,  though  with  moderate  pay, 

And  some  assurance  that  his  compensation 
Might  be  augmented  at  no  distant  day  ; 

And  in  a  spirit  of  accommodation, 

Did  Mrs.  Reed  invite  him  there  to  stay, 

And  make  his  home  with  her,  until  he  could 
"  Procure  a  better  one,  or  one  as  good." 


146 


CCIV. 

Thus  Will  was  quartered  in  the  very  mill 
Which  his  imagination  long  had  gilded, 

With  golden  garnish,  such  as  used  to  fill 
The  fairy  castles  he  so  long  had  builded, 

When  fancy  roamed  according  to  its  will, 
As  in  the  past  it  did,  and  as  it  still  did  ; 

For  now,  while  he  was  very  well  contented, 

His  old  imaginings  were  supplemented 

ccv. 

With  something  yet  to  be.     'Tis  ever  thus  ; 

"  Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest ;  " 
No  matter  how  kind  fortune  favors  us, 

With  that  of  which  we  fain  would  be  possessed ; 
We're  ever  anxious,  always  clamorous, 

For  something  more,  of  which  we  are  in  quest, 
And  always  hoping,  till  life's  sun  is  set, 
That  ere  its  setting  we  may  find  it  yet. 

ccvi. 

And  this  is  progress  I  suppose,  and  so 

A  part  of  that  which  nature  had  designed. 

I  make  small  progress  with  my  story,  though 
The  next  succeeding  canto  we  may  find  — 

But  that  I  cannot  tell,  save  as  we  go, 
And  at  the  present  time  I  feel  inclined 

To  take  a  rest ;  and  so,  perhaps,  do  you ; 

May  you  your  reading,  I  my  task,  renew. 


WILLOUGHBY'S    WISDOM. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 
I. 

Six  summers  Will  was  busy  sorting  wool, 

An  academic  student  in  the  fall ; 
Six  winters  he  had  taught  a  district  school, 

And  had  been  quite  successful  in  them  all : 
And  nearly  all  the  time  his  hands  were  full, 

Although  'twere  possible  he  might  recall 
Some  boyish  scrapes  that  he  was  sometimes  in, 
Yet  slowly  upward  had  his  progress  been. 

ii. 

And  now  we  find  him  —  well,  he  is  a  man, 
In  growth  of  stature,  though  not  fully  grown 

In  intellect  or  morals  yet,  as  can, 

In  all  such  cases,  be  distinctly  shown. 

He  hardly  seems  the  boy  we  first  began 

To  talk  about,  whom  now  indeed  we've  known 

A  dozen  years  and  more  ;  nor  is  it  he, 

His  former  self,  but  what  he's  grown  to  be. 

in. 

So  change  is  stamped  upon  us.     Never  mind ! 

I  still  must  follow  him,  and  trust  that  you 
May  follow  me.     At  first  he  had  designed 

To  enter  college ;  but  at  length,  in  view 

147 


148 


Of  circumstances,  which  have  oft  combined, 

To  crush  our  aspirations,  old  or  new, 
He  gave  it  over,  and  began  to  read, 
With  earnest  zeal,  the  Esculapian  creed. 

IV. 

Which  shows  the  structure  of  the  human  frame, 
From  metatarsal  bones  to  cerebellum  ; 

To  every  bone  and  muscle  gives  its  name,  • 
And  teaches  its  disciples  how  to  tell  'em ; 

To  much  superior  wisdom  makes  its  claim, 
And  writes  diplomas  on  its  sheets  of  vellum, 

The  knowledge  of  the  graduate  to  show, 

Or  make  amends  for  what  he  doesn't  know. 

v. 

Which  teaches  how  to  diagnose  a  case, 
Whene'er  a  case  demands  a  diagnosis  3 

To  follow  out  the  pathologic  trace 
Of  rheumatism,  fever  or  necrosis ; 

And  all  diseases  promptly  to  efface, 
Except  incipient  tuberculosis, 

And  such  as  lurk  unseen  and  unsuspected, 

Or  prove  defiant  when  they've  been  detected. 

VI. 

He  entered  as  a  student  with  a  knight 
Of  pill  and  powder,  of  reputed  skill, 

And  used  his  leisure  time  as  best  he  might, 
When  he  was  teaching  school  or  in  the  mill, 

Until  he  was,  in  some  respects,  a  quite 
Proficient  scholar ;  or  at  least  until 

Prepared  at  length  for  gleaning  further  knowledge, 

As  student  medical  in  Harvard  College : 


149 


VII. 

Which  he'd  designed  to  enter  when  he  could, 
Or  when  he  had  the  means  that  he  could  spare, 

No  other  college  seeming  quite  as  good, 
His  tutor  having  graduated  there, 

Though  many  years  before.     And  now  he  stood 
So  well  financially  that  he  could  bear 

The  strain  upon  his  purse,  perhaps,  and  so 

He  felt  that  he  was  now  prepared  to  go. 

VIII. 

He  packed  his  clothes  and  books,  and  said  good  by, 
To  Mrs.  Reed,  who  long  had  been  his  friend, 

Her  little  daughter  who,  with  moistened  eye, 
The  parting  kiss  stood  ready  to  extend, 

The  wise  old  doctor  who  had  taught  him  why 
No  human  life  should  prematurely  end, 

If  treated  skilfully,  secundum  artem  — 

And  other  friends,  as  fortune  now  must  part  'em. 

IX. 

He  reached  the  city  and  procured  a  place 
For  board  and  lodging,  and  matriculated  — . 

As  teachers  call  the  entry  to  the  race, 
Wherein  aspiring  youths  are  educated  — 

And  paid  the  fees  exacted  in  the  case, 
A  destiny  to  which  we  all  are  fated, 

Except  the  privileged  and  favored  class, 

Who  make  the  tour  of  life  upon  a  pass. 

x. 

His  boarding  place  was  in  a  "  private  way," 

Through  which  'twas  "dangerous"  to  pass,  as  said 
Upon  the  corner  house,  which  is  to  say, 

That  while  no  real  danger  you  may  dread, 


150  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

The  corporation  don't  intend  to  pay 

The  damage,  if  you  get  a  broken  head, 
By  some  mishap  with  which  you  chance  to  meet, 
Because  the  way  is  not  a  public  street. 

XI. 

'Twas  stipulated  in  the  trade,  that  he 

Should  have  a  room  mate,  who,  he  was  assured, 

Was  just  as  nice  as  any  one  could  be, 
And  he  was  fortunate  to  have  secured 

One  so  agreeable ;  but  he  was  free 

To  say  that  any  one  would  be  endured, 

As  matter  of  necessity,  and  not 

For  such  companionship  as  might  be  brought. 

XII. 

And  so  at  once  he  moved  into  the  room  — 
The  other  fellow's  room,  all  put  to  rights  — 

And  as  a  bride  awaits  the  absent  groom, 
He  waited  for  his  chum ;  but  love  requites 

The  waiting  of  the  bride,  while  here  the  gloom 
Could  only  be  dispelled  by  fancy's  flights, 

And  they  were  not  sufficient  to  prevent 

Some  indications  of  his  discontent. 

XIII. 

But  'twasn't  long  before  the  other  came, 

And  Mrs.  Stearns  came  with  him  up  the  stairs ; 
The  boarding  mistress,  a  loquacious  dame, 
And  one  well  skilled  in  marketing  her  wares  ; 
And  she  was  praising  Will  about  the  same, 

Bestowing  compliments  in  equal  shares, 
Perhaps  deservedly,  on  either  hand, 
And  coming  in,  she  said,  with  smile  so  bland, 


151 


XIV. 

"  Now  here's  the  dear  old  friend  and  here  the  new  " — 

They  stood  in  silence  with  a  youthful  grace  — 
"At  least  he's  been  here  longer  than  have  you  "  — 

Each  looked  a  moment  in  the  other's  face  — 
"  And  now  we  like  him  as  we  do  but  few  "  — 

They  raised  their  arms  as  if  they  would  embrace  ; 
And  saying  to  himself,  "  It's  him,  it's  him," 
One  shouted,  "  Will,"  the  other  shouted,  "  Tim." 

xv. 

And  sure  enough,  they  knew  each  other,  though 
So  long  a  time  since  they  had  met  before, 

Despite  the  changes  which  impress  us  so, 

When  boyhood  fast  approaches  manhood's  door ; 

The  quite  pretentious  beard  that  Will  could  show 
Upon  his  face,  which  Tim  declared  was  more 

Becoming  than  his  own,  that  wasn't  quite 

As  well  developed,  but  was  rather  light. 

XVI. 

"Now  where  the  dickens  have  you  been,  Will,  say?" 

Thus  queried  Tim  when  they  were  left  alone ; 
"  Why  don't  you  write  a  fellow  any  way  ? 

How  does  it  happen  that  I  haven't  known 
That  you  were  coming  ?  Have  you  come  to  stay  ? 
What  brought  you  here  ?  "  and  in  a  lower  tone, 
"  Did  this  soft  soaper  tell  you  I  was  here  ? 
I  like  her  pretty  well,  although  she's  queer." 

xvn. 

"  No,"  Will  replied,  "  she  didn't  tell  me  who 

Was  here,  but  said  a  nice  young  fellow  was ; 
How  came  you  here  ?     What  did  you  come  to  do, 
Or  have  you  done  ?     I  didn't  write  because 


152  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

I  didn't  know  that  you  were  coming  too ; 

And  thought  I'd  have  my  next  contain  a  clause, 
Reporting  my  arrival ;  so  I  waited, 
To  get  here  first,  and  get  initiated." 

XVIII. 

"  Initiated,  say,  what  into,  Will  ?  " 

And  Will  explained  to  him  the  situation  ; 

And  Tim  remarked  that  he  had  come  to  fill 
A  vacant  clerkship  for  an  old  relation ; 

An  uncle  living  up  on  Beacon  Hill, 

Who  kept  a  grocery  near  where  stands  the  station 

The  street  cars  start  from  now  at  Bowdoin  Square, 

And  for  the  present  he  was  working  there. 

XIX. 

They  told  each  other  of  the  haps  and  chances, 
Which  had  befallen  them  since  last  they  met ; 

And  there  are  always  some,  as  life  advances, 
Of  most  absorbing  interest,  and  yet, 

To  put  them  all  on  record,  so  enhances 
The  scope  of  history,  that  I  needs  must  let 

Them  all  remain  untold,  or  nearly  all, 

And  only  tell  what  further  may  befall. 

xx. 

The  store  had  furnished  Tim  so  much  to  do, 
'Twas  difficult  for  him  to  get  away ; 

For  working  through  the  day  and  evening  too, 
Left  little  time  to  roam  or  read  or  play ; 

But  he  proposed  before  the  week  was  through, 
To  take  a  Sunday,  if  a  pleasant  day, 

In  spite  of  churches  and  of  Christian  rites, 

To  ramble  over  town  and  see  the  sights. 


153 


XXI. 


And  so  they  did ;  they  wandered  up  and  down, 
As  'twere  at  random,  having  no  design 

Of  any  kind,  except  to  see  the  town, 
Which  they  regarded  as  exceeding  fine  : 

And  in  a  church  that  borrowed  from  the  crown, 
Before  the  time  of  royalty's  decline, 

The  name  King's  Chapel,  in  the  afternoon, 

They  stopped  to  worship  ;  and  to  there  attune 

XXII. 

Their  harps  and  hearts  for  singing  Heaven's  praise, 
To  make  some  slight  amends  for  violation 

Of  Heaven's  law  ;  and  in  accustomed  ways, 
To  thus  discharge  neglected  obligation, 

Considered  due.     They  didn't  even  raise 
The  question  now  so  much  in  disputation, 

Of  human  freedom,  and  the  right  to  say, 

By  each,  how  each  shall  spend  the  Sabbath  day. 

XXIII. 

And  I  have  known  religious  devotees, 

Enthusiastic  in  their  church  devotions, 
As  inconsistent  as  were  ever  these 

Young  fellows  interviewing  Boston  notions ; 
Their  hearts  as  thankful  as  the  Pharisee's, 

That  they  are  not  like  other  men  ;  emotions 
Which  I  would  not  by  any  means  condemn, 

For  I  am  thankful  not  to  be  like  them. 

XXIV. 

Next  morning  Will  resumed  his  chosen  task  ; 

And  every  day  the  busy  season  through, 
He  sought  to  penetrate  beneath  the  mask 

That  knowledge  always  wears.     And  what  to  do 


154 


Between  the  terms,  he  scarcely  stopped  to  ask, 

But  took  the  mill,  the  old  position  too, 
To  rest  the  intellect  a  while,  and  then 
Came  back  to  town  and  went  to  work  again. 

xxv. 

He  reached  the  middle  of  his  final  course 
Of  study  at  the  college,  and  he  thought 

That  he'd  discovered  something  of  the  source 

Of  much  disease  which  on  the  world  was  brought, 

In  other  ways,  as  well  as  by  the  force 
Of  injudicious  eating;  which  is  fraught 

With  danger  now,  as  when,  all  fresh  and  nice 

Good  mother  Eve  ate  fruit  in  paradise. 

XXVI. 

And  she  had  one  advantage  over  us, 

Her  fruit  had  not  been  "  deaconed  "  on  the  sly, 
By  some  dishonest,  enterprising  c-ss, 

Who,  in  his  dealings,  lived  a  constant  lie. 
They  hadn't  got  to  doing  business  thus, 

They  didn't  ship  their  fruit  to  Boston,  I 
Conclude  from  what  the  record  says  about  it, 
And  so  the  Hub  must  then  have  been  without  it. 

XXVII. 

And  Willoughby  had  also  read  a  few 

Historical  and  other  books,  beside 
Materia  Medica;  and  something  knew 

Of  past  events,  which  charity  should  hide, 
Except  for  sake  of  truth,  which  brings  to  view 

The  ugly  things  that  float  upon  the  tide 
Of  human  life,  as  well  as  those  that  shine, 
On  history's  page,  like  diamonds  in  a  mine. 


155 


XXVIII. 


He  could  reci-te  a  poem  or  a  speech, 

And  do  it  pretty  well,  which  made  him  some 

Acquaintances  more  difficult  to  reach, 
By  ordinary  methods,  in  the  hum 

Of  college  life,  where  learned  professors  teach 
Their  truths  —  and  errors  too  —  but  go  and  come, 

As  teachers  rather  than  associates, 

Maintaining  their  superior  estates. 

XXIX. 

He  knew  a  young  M.  D.  in  Tremont  Street, 

Who  graduated  several  years  before 
Himself  had  entered ;  whom  he  chanced  to  meet, 

As  he  pursued  his  scientific  lore, 
A  Dr.  Hathaway,  who  had  a  suite 

Of  rooms,  consisting  of  a  single  floor, 
Wherein  he  held  receptions  now  and  then, 
Inviting  in  young  women  and  young  men, 

xxx. 

Of  literary  tastes,  who  had  beside, 

Some  taste  for  sociability,  which  they  — 

The  Dr.  and  his  wife  —  could  well  provide, 
For  she  was  social  —  Mrs.  Hathaway  — 

And  could  at  parties  gracefully  preside, 
Though  she  was  not  particularly  gay, 

But  suave  and  gentle,  like  the  ladies  we 

Are  most  impressed  with,  whom  we  chance  to  see. 

XXXI. 

And  Will  had  been  invited  once  or  twice, 
These  social  entertainments  to  attend  ; 

And  he  regarded  them  as  very  nice, 

Although  he  much  regretted  that  his  friend 


156  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

Was  not  invited  too  ;  but  Tim's  advice 

Was,  "  Go,  Will,  go,  you  see  you  cannot  mend 
The  matter  if  you  stay ;  and  I  don't  care, 
I'll  be  as  happy  somewhere  else  as  there." 

XXXII. 

A  happy  faculty,  which  even  I 

Have  learned  to  cultivate,  as  year  by  year, 
My  friends  grow  less,  and  often  pass  me  by, 

Since  she  who  made  their  friendship  seem  sincere, 
Beneath  the  moaning  trees  was  doomed  to  lie, 

For  with  a  love  that  "  casteth,out  all  fear," 
I  look  to  that  great  source  of  love  divine, 
Whose  light  is  shed  on  hearts  like  even  mine. 

XXXIII. 

0  thou,  companion  of  my  early  days ! 

My  heart  was  first  enamoured  of  the  smile 
That  played  upon  thy  lips  :  thine  artless  ways 

Seemed  fraught  with  innocence  and  free  from  guile  ; 
And  thy  maturer  life  deserves  much  praise, 

For  virtues  which  adorned  it  all  the  while, 
Until  thy  feet  grew  weary  of  the  strife, 
Which  marks  the  progress  here  of  human  life. 

XXXIV. 

Above  thy  resting-place  on  yonder  hill, 

No  seeming  presence  breaks  the  loneliness ;  — 

However  thoughts  of  thee  my  bosom  fill, 
That  sacred  soil  my  feet  but  seldom  press ; 

1  think  of  thee  as  living,  smiling  still ; 

And  seem  to  feel  thy  spirit's  fond  caress, 
The  benediction  resting  on  my  head, 
Of  one  already  risen  from  the  dead. 


157 


XXXV. 

We  all  have  some  resources  not  well  known, 
To  others  or  ourselves  ;  that  help  us  through 

With  many  a  sorrow  under  which  we  groan 
In  spirit,  for  a  time,  and  then  renew 

Life's  struggles  with  a  force  not  all  our  own, 
Which  nature  furnishes;  perhaps  in  view 

Of  such  necessity  as  comes  to  each, 

For  strength  apparently  beyond  our  reach. 

xxxvi. 

Will  met  one  day  with  Dr.  Hathaway, 

Who  said  to  him,  "  Next  Friday  night  again, 

We  have  a  sociable,  and  trust  we  may, 

Not  vainly,  count  upon  your  presence  then  ; 

We  shall  expect  to  see  you,  and  what  say 
You  as  to  giving  us  a  specimen 

Of  your  ability  in  recitation, 

For  entertainment  or  for  information  ?  " 

XXXVII. 

Will  said  he'd  gd,  but  rather  be  excused 

From  taking  any  very  active  part, 
As  he  was  busy,  and  but  little  used 

To  exercises  in  dramatic  art ; 
They'd  neither  be  enlightened  nor  amused 

By  such  small  wares  in  literary  mart, 
As  he  could  offer,  though  perhaps  he'd  try 
And  do  a  little  something  by  and  by. 

XXXVIII. 

But  he  was  ready  when  the  evening  came, 
With  such  selection  as  he  found  at  hand, 

And  so  responded  when  they  called  his  name, 
Though  he  was  not  the  first  to  take  the  stand. 


158 


Another  worthy  youth,  of  local  fame, 

A  music  teacher,  gave  upon  demand, 
Some  past  experiences  —  on  deck  and  prow  — 
Of  summer  pleasures,  though  'twas  winter  now. 


THE  GULNARE. 

A   SEASIDE  IDYL. 

Of  all  the  pleasant  things  this  world  contains, 

And  they  in  numbers  are  by  no  means  few, 
Of  all  the  blessings  which  the  Father  rains 

On  thankless  mortals,  such  as  I  or  you, 
Of  all  the  fond  attractions  here  and  there, 

Which  interest  us  all  in  some  degree, 
Not  least  among  the  ones  I  fondly  share, 

Are  those  which  greet  me  by  the  mystic  sea. 

Invited  by  a  friend  one  summer  day, 

With  him  and  other  guests  to  take  a  sail, 
Around  the  harbor,  out  upon  the  bay, 

I  gladly  answered  that  I  would  not  fail. 
And  I  was  early  at  the  rendezvous, 

The  sky  was  bright  as  ever  it  could  be, 
The  air  was  clear,  the  sun  was  shining  through, 

And  calmly  resting  on  the  peaceful  sea. 

There  came  upon  the  wharf  a  score  or  so, 

Of  men  and  matrons,  and  of  maidens  fair, 
Who  in  the  tender  took  a  quiet  row, 

Which  brought  us  safely  to  the  yacht  Gulnare. 
And  when  the  sails  had  all  been  duly  set, 

When  mainsail,  jib  and  topsail  all  were  free, 
When  they  the  mild  and  gentle  breezes  met, 

They  bore  us  slowly  out  upon  the  sea. 

And  soon  the  flapping  sails  began  to  fill, 

The  craft  at  length  was  fairly  under  way, 
The  winds  increased,  as  did  the  waves,  until 

The  sails  far  over  to  the  leeward  lay ; 
And  all  were  ordered  by  "  the  commodore," 

To  sit  upon  the  windward  side,  as  she, 
The  gallant  barque,  receding  from  the  shore, 

Was  being  tossed  upon  the  rolling  sea. 


159 


We  gazed  upon  each  fast  returning  wave, 

And  watched  the  greater  ones,  which  never  fail 
To  come  in  turn,  whose  breaking  oft  would  lave 

The  vessel's  side,  well  up  upon  the  rail; 
And  sometimes  splashing  over  on  the  deck, 

With  furious  rage  or  in  demoniac  glee, 
Seemed  fond  of  threatening  with  instant  wreck, 

Our  tiny  ship  in  the  revengeful  sea. 

And  yet  in  safety  on  the  swelling  tide, 

Although  it  made  of  us  a  seeming  toy, 
We  traversed  rapidly  the  waters  wide, 

Beyond  the  beacon  and  the  whistling  buoy ; 
But,  when  far  out  upon  the  watery  waste, 

Old  father  time  recorded  his  decree, 
That  we  must  change  our  outward  course,  and  haste 

From  off  the  restless  and  the  billowy  sea. 

There  was  a  girl  on  board,  with  locks  of  gold, 

Who  looked  abroad  from  out  a  hazel  eye, 
Whose  face  seemed  fashioned  in  so  fair  a  mould, 

I  scarce  remember  it  without  a  sigh ; 
And  when  reclining  on  the  forward  deck, 

I  thought  at  times  she  seemed  to  smile  on  me ; 
But  then  she  gave  the  answering  smile  a  check, 

And  looked  away  into  the  surging  sea. 

O  deep,  dark  sea !  thy  hungry  waves  contain 

Full  many  a  foundered  hope  besides  the  one 
Which,  born  and  buried  on  the  murmuring  main, 

Thus  briefly  glistened  in  the  noontide  sun. 
And  many  a  moral  barque  which  promised  well, 

Is  tossed  about  as  we  are  tossed  in  thee ; 
And  often  wellnigh  wrecked  beneath  the  swell, 

And  angry  breakers  of  some  moral  sea. 

Ah  well !  I  did  my  best,  and  must  suppress 

The  vain  regrets  which  sad  remembrance  brings ; 
All  joys  are  tinged  with  sorrow  more  or  less, 

And  there  must  be  an  end  to  earthly  things, 
And  so  must  end  that  long,  bright,  happy  day ; 

My  harp  must  hang  upon  the  willow  tree, 
But  memory  still  may  see  from  far  away, 

The  yacht  Gulnare  upon  the  swelling  sea. 


160 


XXXIX. 

When  he  was  through,  and  one  had  cried,  "  Alas 

At  his  imaginary  nonsuccess, 
In  bringing  out  what  might  have  come  to  pass, 

And  they  had  cheered  the  effort  more  or  less, 
A  lady  from  a  graduating  class 

Of  elocutionists,  would  now  express 
Some  sentiments  in  blank  verse  written  out, 
Concerning  which  she  seemed  to  have  no  doubt. 

THE  RACE  OF  LIFE. 

This  life  is  but  a  battle  or  a  race, 
In  which  the  crowds  rush  furiously  by, 
And  push  and  jostle  on  the  king's  highway; 
Wherein  we  all  do  more  or  less  contend 
For  triumph,  or  the  prize  we  covet    most. 

For  pleasure  oft,  which  doth  the  soul  allure 
To  some  sweet  pastime  or  some  promised  joy. 
But  pleasures  often  end  in  bitter  pain, 
And  those  especially  which  violate 
Some  well  known  physical  or  moral  law; 
Or  even  laws  unknown,  until  revealed 
Through  penalties  incurred  by  violation. 

For  wealth,  that  shall  supply  our  pressing  wants, 
For  food  and  raiment,  shelter,  house  and  home  ; 
And  that  wherewith,  in  feebleness  or  age, 
To  keep  the  wolf  of  hunger  from  the  door. 
But  from  the  exercise  of  frugal  thrift, 
Howe'er  commendable,  as  in  itself, 
There  may  develop  such  a  love  of  gain 
As  shall  betray  us  to  an  evil  doom. 
So  should  we  pray,  as  Agur  did  of  old, 
That  neither  poverty  nor  riches  come 
To  us  in  great  excess  above  our  needs, 
Lest  peradventure  with  a  gormand  greed, 
We  seek  for  treasure  for  its  own  dear  sake  ; 
And  in  our  miser  chests  do  hoard  it  up, 
And  count  the  shining  shekels  o'er  and  o'er, 
Until  ourselves  become  almost  a  part 
And  parcel  of  the  same  ;  for  wheresoe'er 
The  treasure  is,  the  heart  must  also  be, 


161 


Which  thus  is  cankered  by  the  greed  of  gold  ; 
If  we  indeed  the  golden  prize  should  win. 

Ambition  struggles  tor  a  doubtful  fame, 
And  long  endeavors  to  perpetuate 
An  unknown  name  unto  the  coming  time, 
By  tongue  or  pen,  or  valiant  deeds  in  war  ; 
Or  even  only  monument  of  stone  ; 
Whereon  has  been  engraven  not  alone 
Hicjacet  he  whose  ducats  reared  the  shaft, 
But  all  the  good  his  character  contained, 
Is  duly  chronicled  and  noted  down. 
But  monuments  are  not  in  good  repute 
For  truthfulness ;  and  even  what  they  say, 
Is  oft  unnoticed  by  the  passers  by. 
Not  only  so,  but  time  shall  surely  come, 
When  stony  script  shall  not  be  legible; 
Nay  more,  when  granite  shaft  and  marble  slab, 
Moss  grown  and  old,  shall  crumble  into  dust. 
When  cruel  deeds  of  war  shall  be  unknown, 
And  be  remembered  only  as  the  crimes 
Which  marred  the  records  of  a  savage  age. 

And  is  there  nothing  then  of  life,  that  lives 
Beyond  men's  recollections  of  the  past  ? 
Yea,  yea,  the  consciousness  of  duty  done; 
The  sure  possession  of  a  character 
Unsullied  by  the  stain  of  flagrant  wrong. 
Not  only  so,  but  one  that  bears  the  stamp 
Of  vigorous  virtue  and  of  righteousness. 
A  life  unselfish,  save  as  one  may  seek, 
By  reflex  action  from  his  noble  deeds, 
For  self  aggrandizement;  for  'tis  a  law 
Of  nature's  constitution,  written  down 
In  every  human  soul  —  if  we  have  wit 
Sufficient  to  enable  us  to  read 
In  nature's  statute  books  — that  he  who  strives 
For  goodness  in  himself,  and  others'  weal, 
Shall  find  contentment,  happiness  and  peace. 
The  race  is  won  not  always  by  the  swift, 
Nor  is  the  battle  to  the  strong  alone ; 
But  rather  him  who  fights  on  virtue's  side, 
And  him  that  in  the  right  direction  runs. 

The  race  for  manhood  and  for  womanhood, 
Of  noblest  pattern  and  of  highest  type, 
Although  the  obstacles  to  overcome, 
Within  ourselves  and  also  from  without, 


162 


Be  great  and  numerous,  is  one  whose  lists 
'Twere  wise  to  enter  in  our  early  youth, 
And  run  with  patience  till  the  goal  is  reached, 
The  object  gained,  the  highest  prizes  won. 
And  when  to  him  who  runs  in  such  a  race, 
The  summons  comes  that  comes  to  all,  "  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,"  he  goes  to  rest 
"  Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams." 
And  with  the  inner  consciousness  that  he 
Shall  wake  again  beneath  some  fairer  sky, 
And  only  in  restraint  of  virtue's  bonds, 
Which  leave  the  virtuous  untrammelled,  walk 
In  peace  and  freedom  on  the  hills  of  God. 


XL. 

Another  lady  still,  whose  lofty  brow 

Was  more  expressive  than  we  often  see, 
Who  might  have  said,  "  I'm  holier  than  thou," 

But  she  was  modest  to  a  high  degree  — 
A  married  dame  —  came  slowly  forward  now, 

And  gave  some  quite  unusual  thoughts,  which  she 
Apparently  believed  in,  as  may  you, 

Or  not,  as  you  may  hold  them  false  or  true. 

MARTIN  LUTHER. 

I  stayed  at  a  farm-house  a  couple  of  days, 

And  they  sent  me  to  bed  before  ever  'twas  dark; 

And  then  in  accord  with  their  sensible  ways, 
We  all  in  the  morning  were  up  with  the  lark ; 

And  casting  about  in  my  room  for  a  glass, 
Wherein  I  could  see  in  arranging  my  toilet, 

If  artful  endeavor  were  bringing  to  pass 
The  result  I  intended  or  tending  to  foil  it, 

Approaching  the  spot  where  I  thought  it  should  be, 
Between  the  two  windows  in  front  of  the  bed, 

A  picture  of  Luther  looked  down  upon  me, 
From  a  heavy  gilt  frame,  and  it  served  me  instead. 


163 


For  I  saw  that  my  face  was  reflected  in  his  — 

Or  the  glass  it  was  under  —  and  coming  still  nearer, 

In  spite  of  his  fame,  as  world-wide  as  it  is, 
I  used  the  old  Wittenburg  saint  for  a  mirror. 

Nor  is  it  uncommon,  I've  come  to  believe, 

To  see  ourselves  mirrored  in  other  folks'  faces, 

Or  characters  either,  so  prone  to  deceive, 

In  regard  to  their  sins,  or  their  virtues  and  graces. 

We  meet  with  a  man  of  whom  little  we  know, 
And  ask  him  about  his  religion  —  or  creed  — 

And  he  frankly  avows  his  belief,  so  and  so, 
And  his  tenets  are  such  as  most  people  concede 

To  be  true,  and  if  we,  for  the  sake  of  applause, 
Or  approval,  pretend  to  believe  the  same  thing, 

While  in  fact,  in  cur  creed  we've  inserted  a  clause, 
That  we  haven't  the  courage  to  publicly  fling 

In  the  face  of  the  world,  we  are  apt  to  suspect 
That  the  other  man  too,  is  a  moral  pretender, 

And  in  his  professions  we  seem  to  detect 

A  false  faith,  with  another  dishonest  defender. 

On  the  other  hand,  if,  being  true  and  sincere, 
We  hear  a  consummate  old  hypocrite  preach, 

In  the  faith  we  have  held  for  this  many  a  year, 
Which  he,  for  his  living,  is  willing  to  teach, 

We  never  suspect  that  with  him  it's  a  sham, 
That  his  heart  of  all  dissimulation  is  full, 

We  hear  but  his  prayer  for  the  newly  shorn  lamb, 
While  he  is  but  warming  himself  in  the  wool. 

A  farmer  comes  in  with  potatoes  and  eggs, 
All  carefully  deaconed,  the  poorest  to  screen, 

A  calf  that  is  cruelly  tied  by  the  legs, 

A  horse  that,  like  Cassius,  looks  hungry  and  lean, 

And  trading  his  produce  and  getting  his  pay, 

And  whether  or  not  they  have  happened  to  beat  him, 

He  gets  in  his  buggy,  and  driving  away, 

Is  likely  to  think  that  the  village  folks  cheat  him. 


164 


The  village  in  turn,  with  its  dissolute  holes 

For  drinking  and  gaming,  declares  it's  a  pity  — 

While  fervently  praying  for  other  men's  souls  — 
That  sin  in  all  forms,  is  so  rife  in  the  city. 

A  book  agent  calls,  it  may  be,  at  the  door, 

And  very  politely  exhibits  his  wares, 
Containing  all  knowledge  unwritten  before, 

He  seemingly  very  sincerely  declares, 

Persuading  the  honest  and  truthful  good  dame, 
As  hungry  for  knowledge  as  grandmother  Eve, 

To  give  him  her  money,  or  give  him  her  name, 
While  he  was  presumably  born  to  deceive. 

Perchance  a  young  maiden  becomes  an  *'  old  maid;  " 
And  here  I  protest  in  humanity's  name, 

Against  the  low  stigma  thus  sought  to  be  laid 
On  this  worthy  condition  of  unmarried  dame, 

By  such  gross  appellation.  I  honor  the  woman 
Who,  forty  years  old,  on  a  platform,  or  stage, 

Although,  as  she  said,  'twas  a  little  uncommon, 
Announced  to  the  public  that  she  was  of  age. 

That  she  should  assume  the  grown  title  of  Mrs., 
And  shouldn't  respond  any  longer  to  Miss; 

And  why  should  a  world  so  enlightened  as  this  is, 
Not  recognize  such  a  position  as  this? 

And  then  to  defend  it,  and  give  us  her  views  in 
Regard  to  the  matter,  at  length  she  went  on, 
;  If  Susan  B.  Anthony  still  is  Miss  Susan, 

Why  don't  they  call  Whittier  still  Master  John  ?  " 

She  deemed  it  an  outrage,  and  treated  it  so,  1 

That  a  matron  is  Missed  like  a  girl  in  her  youth, 

Thus  answering  whether  she's  married  or  no, 
As  if  it  were  somebody's  business,  in  sooth. 

When  a  boy  is  of  age,  or  before,  it  may  be, 
It  is  deemed  but  polite  to  address  him  as  Mr. ; 

And  that  is  all  right  as  all  seem  to  agree, 
And  all  practise  it  too;  but  his  unmarried  sister, 


WILLOUGIIBY'S  WISDOM.  165 


Through  barbarous  custom,  must  ever  ignore 
The  fact  of  her  womanhood,  simply  because 

That  for  better  or  worse,  she's  not  taken  some  more 
Or  less  promising  youth ;  and  the  infamous  laws 

Of  society  make  it  appear  a  disgrace  — 

Though  'tis  oft  the  reverse  —  and  the  fact  must  be  hurled, 
On  every  occasion,  direct  in  her  face, 

And  direct  in  the  face  of  a  curious  world. 

But  excuse  this  digression.     I  say  if  a  maiden 
Sips  not  at  the  cup  of  young  marital  bliss, 

She  still  must  regard  it,  we  think,  as  her  aiden, 
Which  she,  by  misfortune,  has  happened  to  miss. 

For  the  average  woman  and  average  man, 

Thus  seeing  themeslves,  as  reflected  in  others, 

See  no  other  reason  why  nature's  old  plan, 

That  was  wisely  pursued  by  their  fathers  and  mothers, 

Should  not  have  been  also  pursued  in  the  case 

Under  consideration,  excepting  the  one, 
Peradventure,  that  she  was  outrun  in  the  race, 

Or  had  been,  by  some  prosperous  rival,  outdone. 

A  lady  residing  in  Claremont,  has, 
As  she  says,  quite  a  habit  of  studying  faces; 

Expressing  her  views  in  regard  to  them,  as 

She  is  pleased  or  displeased  with  the  ones  that  she  traces. 

And  riding  one  day  in  a  car,  she  observed 
That  a  lady,  though  sitting  some  distance  away, 

Was  glancing  at  her ;  and  her  countenance  served 
For  a  short  commentary,  wherein  she  might  say 

Whatsoever  she  pleased.     "  What  a  great  homely  face ! 

So  broad,  so  expressionless,  stupid,"  she  said, 
"  And  she's  looking  at  me  with  a  rather  bad  grace;  " 
And  she  noticed,  on  raising  her  hand  to  her  head, 

That  the  other  one  too,  did  exactly  the  Bame: 
"  Oh  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  audible  groan, 
"  Do  I  know  my  own  face  ?  do  I  know  my  own  name  ?  " 
For  she  looked  in  a  mirror:  the  face  was  her  own. 


166 


There's  much  in  the  world  we  are  prone  to  condemn, 
We  grumble  at  people  and  things  as  they  pass, 

But  while  we  are  laughing  and  sneering  at  them, 
We  oftentimes  see  but  ourselves  in  a  glass. 

XLI. 

An  oldish  man,  who  owned  the  house  wherein 
The  doctor's  suite  of  rooms  was  situate, 

Who  oft  had  kindly  and  politely  been, 
As  now,  invited  to  participate, 

Who  had  a  strong  dislike  for  whiskey,  gin 
And  so  forth,  now  proceeded  to  relate, 

Or  rather  from  his  manuscript  he  read, 

This  temperance  story,  which  was  true,  he  said. 

A  WESTERN  GIRL. 

My  heroine's  a  girl,  unknown  to  fame, 
Unknown  to  me  since  many  years  ago, 

Except  that  recently  I've  heard  her  name, 
In  such  connection  as  may  serve  to  show 

That  she  had  character  and  sterling  worth, 

When  only  twenty  summers  from  her  birth. 

Her  father  earned  his  living,  during  youth 
And  early  manhood,  making  boots  and  shoes ; 

Her  mother  too,  to  ne'er  disguise  the  truth, 
Entangled  fast  in  matrimony's  noose, 

With  little  store  of  worldly  wealth,  'twas  said, 

Made  hats  and  bonnets  for  her  daily  bread. 

An  honest  calling  —  honestly  pursued  — 
Was  his  or  hers,  whereby,  between  the  two, 

They  kept  the  wolf  at  bay,  and  oft  renewed 
The  empty  larder  with  a  hat  or  shoe, 

For  which  we  all  have  more  or  less  a  passion, 

To  suit  the  season  or  the  coming  fashion. 

They  prospered  fairly  well  from  year  to  year, 
And  she  was  satisfied,  or  seemed  to  be; 

But  he  was  longing  for  a  new  career  — 
From  present  occupations  to  be  free ; 

He  sought,  in  short,  from  stubborn  fate  to  wrench 

A  higher  station  than  the  Crispin's  bench. 


167 


He  figured  up  his  then  outstanding  claims, 
He  sold  his  kit,  which  wasn't  quite  his  all, 

In  bold  pursuance  of  his  lofty  aims, 
A  move  quite  difficult  to  now  recall  — 

A  metamorphosis  already  past, 

By  which  the  shoe  he'd  made,  became  his  last. 

He  cast  about  for  something  else  to  do, 

Although  the  search  was  bootless  for  a  time, 

But,  various  enterprises  conning  through, 
He  said  at  length,  with  purposes  sublime, 

The  clerical  profession  he'd  embrace, 

And  preach  the  gospel  to  a  sinful  race. 

The  change  was  but  a  slight  one  after  all. 
For  even  now  'twas  but  repairing  souls, 

That  had  been  injured  by  a  dangerous  fall, 
Of  chronic  standing  —  mending  moral  holes 

In  moral  garments,  often  worn  so  thin, 

'Twere  hard  to  tell  where  he  had  best  begin.  . 

But  just  before  his  ordination  day, 

Foreordination  seemed  to  intervene, 
And  put  the  former,  for  the  time,  away, 

So  far  away,  in  fact,  'twas  never  seen; 
For,  hoping  thus  to  reap  more  golden  fruits, 
He  then  engaged  in  mercantile  pursuits. 

And  afterwards  in  speculating  schemes; 

In  heavy  contracts,  and  in  western  lands; 
Wherein  he  prospered  even  beyond  the  dreams 

Of  wealth,  with  which  his  fancy  filled  his  hands; 
Until  he  settled,  as  he  deemed  it  best, 
In  some  new  city  of  the  growing  west. 

Meanwhile  the  wife,  our  heroine's  good  mother, 
Had  steadily  pursued  her  old  vocation ; 

The  child  and  she,  who  dearly  loved  each  other, 
Sustaining  still  the  natural  relation 

Which  nature  gave  them,  in  their  quiet  home, 

With  no  desire  in  distant  lands  to  roam. 

But  now,  the  father  having  settled  down, 

A  wealthy  citizen,  or  well-to-do 
At  least,  in  such  a  busy,  far-off  town 

As  he  was  in,  the  wife  and  daughter  too, 


168 


Must  needs  go  thither,  as  anon  they  did; 
As  wives  are  wont  to  go  where  husbands  bid. 

And  so  the  millinery  goods  were  sold, 

As  also  was  the  shop,  which  she  had  earned 

By  substituting  new  things  for  the  old; 

And  now  their  steps  were  gladly,  sadly  turned 

In  the  direction  of  the  setting  sun, 

Where  new  lives,  as  it  were,  should  be  begun. 

•  A  new,  commodious  house,  which  had  been  reared 

For  their  reception,  on  a  pleasant  bluff, 
That  overlooked  the  river,  wild  and  weird, 

Containing  household  goods  in  quamtum  suff — 
With  open  doors  stood  ready  to  enfold, 
And  shelter  them  from  rain  and  wind  and  cold. 

And  here  they  lived  ;   and  she,  the  growing  maiden, 
Whose  culture  had  by  no  means  been  neglected, 

Performed  the  tasks  with  which  her  hands  were  laden, 
No  less  acceptably  than  was  expected, 

Sustaining  all  her  various  parts  so  well, 

She  soon  became  a  noted  city  belle. 

In  social  gatherings  the  echoes  rang, 

Of  many  a  genial  air  she'd  played  and  sung, 

For  well  she  played,  melodiously  sang, 
And  fluently  conversed,  for  one  so  young, 

But  more  especially  did  she  advance, 

In  graceful  movements  in  the  mazy  dance. 

And  so  it  chanced,  in  a  commodious  hall, 

The  yearly  "  Christmas  hop"  had  been  announced, 

And  all  the  belles  were  there,  or  nearly  all, 
In  costly  dresses,  duly  fringed  and  flounced, 

A  brilliant  gathering  of  the  city's  best 

And  Clara  prominent  among  the  rest. 

And  some  aspiring  devotee  had  brought 
His  genius  into  play,  and  had  invented 

A  daring  scheme,  in  wildest  fancy  wrought, 

By  which  some  novel  scenes  should  be  presented ; 

And  had  erected  there,  his  power  to  own, 

The  fabled  wine  god,  on  a  gilded  throne. 

And  these  were  in  a  sylvan  bower,  reared 
To  serve  his  purpose,  fronting  down  the  hall, 


169 


And  when  each  couple  in  the  waltz,  appeared 

Before  its  door,  the  sceptered  hand  would  fall, 
And  beck  them  in,  to  worship  at  his  shrine, 
And  proffer  her  a  goblet  tilled  with  wine. 

And  she  in  turn,  receiving  it  from  him, 
Was  then  expected  in  her  place  to  stand, 

And  sipping  daintily  the  goblet's  brim, 
To  give  it  then  into  her  partner's  hand ; 

And  thereupon,  in  bacchanalian  trance, 

He  quaffed  the  nectar  and  resumed  the  dance. 

Now  Clara  had  received  as  living  truth, 

The  temperance  teachings  of  her  native  home; 

And  when  she  looked  upon  the  generous  youth 
Who  waltzed  with  her,  and  then  upon  the  dome 

Of  Bacchus'  bower,  as  they  approached  the  spot, 

She  trembled  slightly,  though  she  faltered  not. 

Her  face  was  for  a  moment  overcast 

With  doubtful  shadows,  which  anon  grew  less, 

For  almost  instantly  the  doubts  were  past, 
The  purpose  fixed  which  she  would  soon  express  ; 

And  she  resumed  her  wonted  ease  and  grace, 

And  calmly  stood  in  her  allotted  place : 

Where  those  preceding  hei  had  stood,  within 
The  charmed  enclosure,  thus  in  beauty  wrought, 

But  being  dedicated  now  to  sin, 
With  much  of  danger  and  of  sorrow  fraught, 

Though  wooed  so  thoughtlessly  by  gallant  swain,  ' 

Who  sowed  for  pleasure,  but  may  reap  with  pain. 

She  took  the  goblet,  not  from  willing  choice, 
But  from  a  conscious  duty  would  not  shrink, 

And  then  repeating  in  a  clear,  strong  voice, 
u  Woe  unto  him  that  gives  his  neighbor  drink," 

Behind  the  mimic  throne  she  stood  before, 

She  threw  the  wine  cup  down  upon  the  noor. 

And  her  New  England  mother,  when  she  learned, 
The  following  morning,  what  the  girl  had  done, 

Did  not  withhold  the  praise  which  she  had  earned, 
"Of  all  your  deeds  it  is  the  noblest  one." 

She  fondly  said,  "  and  I  am  proud  to  know 

You  gave  the  scheme  its  partial  overthrow." 


170 


All  honor  then,  in  this  our  sinful  earth, 
To  noble  minded  women  who  shall  dare, 

By  word  or  action  —  even  in  scenes  of  mirth  — 
To  preach  the  temperance  gospel  everywhere. 

If  fall  we  must,  O  let  us  not  repeat, 

The  woman  gave  it  me  and  I  did  eat. 

God  speed  the  day  when  we  may  surely  know 
That  entertainment  shall  forego  its  wine ; 

And  when  the  cup,  with  all  its  wealth  of  woe, 
Shall  not  be  pressed  to  your  lips  or  to  mine; 

And  may  the  angels  join  the  chorus  then, 

And  sing  of  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men. 


XLII. 

His  story  listened  to  with  much  respect, 
And  close  attention,  by  his  hearers,  they, 

Not  pausing  on  its  lesson  to  reflect, 
Now  gladly  turned  to  Mrs.  Hathaway, 

Who  seldom  read,  but  when  she  did  select, 
Had  always  something  she  desired  to  say, 

And  now  her  theme,  of  childhood,  youth  and  age, 

Was  one  of  interest  to  child  or  sage. 


GRANDMA  AND  ADA. 

GRANDMA  was  old  and  Ada  was  young; 

O'er  Grandma's  life,  with  its  hopes  and  fears, 
The  mists  of  time  long  shadows  had  flung, 

She  had  lived  for  seven-and-sixty  years, 

When  Ada  was  born;  and  in  ten  years  more, 
Was  a  long  way  past  threescore  and  ten, 

Which  sages  recorded  in  days  of  yore, 
As  the  time  allotted  to  women  and  men. 

And  Ada  then  was  a  laughing  child : 

Her  heart  was  swelling  with  mirth  and  glee, 

Her  ways,  sometimes,  were  wayward  and  wild, 
But  she  lovingly  sat  on  Grandma's  knee, 


171 


And  her  warm,  soft  hand,  with  a  childish  grace, 

She  often  playfully  pushed  about, 
Across  the  faded  and  wrinkled  face, 

And  tried  to  "  iron  the  wrinkles  out." 

"  Do  you  remember,  Gran' ma,"  said  she, 
"  When  you  was  a  little  girl  of  ten? 

Did  you  have  a  smooth,  round  face,  like  me? 
Did  you  have  a  gran' ma,  Gran' ma,  then? 

"  Shall  I  be  wrinkled  as  you  are  now? 

Shall  I  grow  old,  as  you  say  all  do? 
I  suppose  I  shall,  but  I  don't  see  how; 

Shall  I  be  a  gran 'ma,  Gran' ma,  too?" 

"Nobody  can  tell  about  that,  my  dear; 

Go  bring  my  staff  from  the  corner  there," 
She  said,  and  her  smile  concealed  a  tear, 

As  she  slowly  rose  from  the  old  arm  chair, 

And  the  two  together  went,  hand-in-hand, 
Out  into  the  yard,  in  the  bright  sunlight, 

And  looked  at  the  sky,  so  blue  and  grand 
To  the  childish  eye,  while  the  inner  sight 

Of  age  looked  through.     'Twas  a  glad  sunrise 
And  a  calm  sunset,  in  the  mystic  whirl 

Of  progressive  life:  one  old  and  wise, 
The  other  was  then  but  a  fair-haired  girl. 

But  when  she  arrived  at  "sweet  sixteen," 
Her  old  companion  had  passed  away, 

To  the  "  Summer-land,"  and  the  turf  was  green, 
'Neath  which  the  body  of  Grandma  lay. 

And  oft  in  the  golden  sunset  glow, 

By  the  marble  stone  on  the  churchyard  hill, 

A  girlish  form  was  bending  low, 
And  a  loving  heart  was  beating  still. 

And  a  prayer  went  up  from  quivering  lips, 
To  the  Father's  throne  in  the  spirit  land, 

As  a  fresh  bouquet  of  wild  flower  slips 
Dropped  lovingly  from  Ada's  hand. 


172 


O  ceaseless  time!  on  swiftest  wing, 
Thou  fliest  past,  as  the  records  show; 

Summer  and  winter,  fall  and  spring, 
In  quick  succession  come  and  go. 

O  tide  of  life !  whereon  we  float, 

Until,  as  the  silent  warder  calls, 
We  come  at  length  to  the  shadowy  moat, 

Surrounding  the  future's  gilded  walls. 

Now  Ada  sits  by  the  ingleside, 
And  knits  and  sings.     Her  slippered  toe 

Moves  up  and  down  in  the  bright  noontide, 
And  a  cradle  is  rocking  to  and  fro. 

A  child,  a  maid,  a  bride,  a  —  well, 

'Tis  a  mystic  veil  we  cannot  see  through; 

What  the  future  holds,  no  one  can  tell, 
But  Ada  may  "be  a' grandma  too." 

XLIII. 

This,  too,  was  cheered,  with  not  a  little  zest, 
Which  Will  regarded  rather  unpropitious, 

For  he  was  called  upon,  and  fearing,  lest 
His  own  selection  had  been  injudicious, 

He  rose  and  took  his  place,  and  did  his  best, 
And  to  excel  was  more  or  less  ambitious, 

As  he  related  what  we  well  may  deem 

The  vague  imaginations  of  a  dream. 

A   DREAM. 

I  dreamed  a  queer  dream,  and  a  small,  yellow  cur,        v 
Came  out  with  a  growl,  from  between  the  two  houses 

Just  over  the  way,  and  before  I  could  stir, 
He  had  planted  his  teeth  in  the  leg  of  my  trousers. 

And  when  I  laid  hold  of  the  nape  of  his  neck, 

And  on  the  stone  pavement  ferociously  threw  him, 

A  savage  old  mastiff  leaped  off  from  the  deck 
Of  a  steamer  hard  by,  and  proceeded  to  chew  him 

So  mercilessly  that  I  hadn't  the  heart 

To  see  the  poor  cur,  that  myself  had  just  beaten, 

So  unfairly  used,  and  I  took  the  dog's  part, 
As  he,  but  for  that,  would  no  doubt  have  been  eaten. 


173 

And  so  the  world  goes,  that  whoever  is  down, 

Gets  most  of  the  kicks,  and  the  most  of  the  bruises, 

While  he  that  can  scarcely  keep  off  from  the  town, 
Must  pay  for  the  goods  that  his  rich  neighbor  uses. 

I  dreamed  a  wild  dream,  and  the  sky  was  o'ercast 
With  the  blackest  of  clouds,  and  they  hung  on  the  border, 

With  sullen  forebodings,  or  hurrying  past, 
Were  chasing  each  other  in  wildest  disorder. 

At  length  the  swift  wind  like  a  hurricane  blew, 
And  a  lofty  church  steeple,  all  garnished  and  gilded, 

Came  down ;  and  methought  the  old  parable  true, 
Of  the  house  in  the  sand,  which  the  foolish  man  builded. 

Not  only  the  wind,  but  the  lightning's  red  glare, 
And  the  rain  in  huge  torrents  so  swiftly  descended, 

And  peals  of  loud  thunder  oft  rended  the  air, 

Till  the  earth  and  the  sky  in  wild  chaos  were  blended. 

When  the  storm  had  come  on  I  was  out  for  a  ride, 
With  a  dappled  bay  span  and  an  old-fashioned  carriage; — 

A  charming  young  heiress  sat  close  by  my  side, 

And  the  very  next  day  was  that  fixed  for  our  marriage. 

The  horses  were  borrowed,  the  carriage  was  mine, 

A  sort  of  heir-loom  an  old  uncle  had  given, 
When  he,  for  some  reason,  was  in  a  decline, 

In  fact,  just  before  his  departure  for  heaven. 

And  so  as  a  family  relic,  'twas  prized, 

Though  more,  perhaps,  out  of  respect  to  the  giver; 

But  crossing  a  bridge  the  whole  structure  capsized, 
And  I  barely  escaped  a  wet  grave  in  the  river. 

The  carriage  went  down,  but  the  crash  and  the  roar, 
Had  frightened  the  steeds  to  a  furious  canter, 

And  so  with  a  spring,  they  got  safely  on  shore, 
As  did  the  gray  mare  that  bore  off  Tarn  O'Shanter. 

The  maiden  was  drowned,  and  I  stood  in  despair, 
And  gazed  at  her  picture  encased  in  a  locket ; 

Though  she  was  an  heiress,  I  wasn't  her  heir, 
And  her  money  was  yet  in  her  grandfather's  pocket. 


174 


I  dreamed  a  droll  dream,  and  a  pig  from  the  sty 
Had  escaped  in  affright,  at  the  sight  of  a  drover; 

And  coming  along  to  a  cask  of  "  old  rye." 

At  a  grocer's  back  door,  he  just  rooted  it  over. 

Then  a  temperance  lecture  this  four-footed  Gough 
Commenced  with  a  word  which  I  cannot  quite  utter, 

Meanwhile  the  main  hoops  of  the  barrel  came  off, 
And  the  poisonous  fluid  ran  down  in  the  gutter. 

Now  piggie,  beware  of  the  merciless  laws 
Of  the  rumseller's  code,  to  which  you  are  a  stranger, 

And  when  you  enlist  in  the  temperance  cause, 
Remember  therein  is  a  good  deal  of  danger. 

The  grocer  ran  out  with  a  murderous  knife, 

And  straight  to  poor  piggie' s  brave  heart  would  have  sent  it, 

And  he  as  a  martyr  had  laid  down  his  life, 

But  I  waked  from  my  dream  just  in  time  to  prevent  it. 


XLIV. 

Will  took  his  seat  amid  some  kindly  cheers, 

Expressive  of  a  fair  appreciation, 
Though  he  himself  still  entertained  some  fears 

That  he  had  not  deserved  much  commendation ; 
Then  came  a  lady,  bowed  with  seeming  years, 

And  she  was  heralded  by  proclamation, 
That  she  would  sing  of  happy  childhood's  days, 
And  of  the  mystery  of  nature's  ways. 

XLV. 

A  young  man  played,  as  an  accompanist, 
A  small  harmonica ;  and  seemed  to  know 

That  'twas  his  duty  only  to  assist, 

And  not  to  see  how  loudly  he  could  blow, 

As  often  does  the  modern  melodist, 

In  such  a  part,  but  rather,  soft  and  low, 

The  notes  which  seconded  the  plaintive  strain, 

Wherein  she  sang  the  following  refrain : 


WISDOM.  175 


While  sitting  here  in  the  gloaming,. 

My  heart  is  far  away, 
In  the  far  off  time  'tis  roaming, 

When  I  was  a  child  at  play. 
But  time  and  tide  wait  never, 

For  child  or  man,  they  say, 
And  flying,  flowing  ever, 

They  find  me  old  and  gray. 

O  days  of  happy  childhood, 

When  hearts  and  hands  were  free, 
When  meadow,  hill  and  wildwood 

Had  many  a  charm  for  me  ! 
The  light  of  thy  sun  has  vanished, 

The  light  of  the  morning  star, 
And  men  and  women  are  banished, 

From  childhood's  world  afar. 

While  sitting  here  in  the  gloaming, 

My  heart  is  far  away, 
In  olden  memories  roaming, 

When  youth  and  love  held  sway; 
But  time  doth  never  tarry, 

For  age  or  youth  I  know, 
The  joys  our  young  lives  carry, 

They  all  must  quickly  go. 

O  days  when  vows  are  plighted, 

When  love's  young  tendrils  twine, 
When  heart  to  heart  is  united, 

By  what  they  have  deemed  divine! 
But  the  heart  of  its  love  grows  weary, 

And  love  in  its  turn  grows  cold, 
Or  the  autumn  of  life  comes  dreary,     . 

And  lovers,  alas !  grow  old. 

While  sitting  here  in  the  gloaming, 

My  heart  is  far  away, 
In  by-gone  days  'tis  roaming, 

The  days  that  would  not  stay; 
For  time  doth  never  linger, 

He  flieth  even  now, 
And  writes  with  iron  finger, 

Sad  tales  on  cheek  and  brow. 


176  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

And  still  I  am  dreaming,  dreaming, 

Of  the  halcyon  days  of  yore, 
Of  the  joys  behind  me  gleaming, 

And  those  which  are  still  before; 
The  golden  days  of  the  future, 

The  soul  world  whither  we  go, 
The  web  of  life  without  suture 

Of  sorrow  or  pain  or  woe. 


XLVI. 

While  thus  she  sang,  with  voice  unbroken,  sweet 
And  clear,  Will  wondered  if  he  couldn't  trace 

Some  false  appearances,  though  quite  complete ; 
She  bore  the  years  with  well  becoming  grace, 

And  yet  he  queried  if  'twere  aged  feet, 

That  bore  away  the  seeming  wrinkled  face ; 

Or  if  some  girl  had  deemed  it  free  from  blame, 

To  play  the  role  of  venerable  dame. 

XL  VII. 

She  disappeared,  and  after  one  or  two 

More  recitations,  which  had  been  requested, 

Were  creditably  rendered,  and  were  through, 
And  satisfaction  duly  manifested, 

Debating  what  'twere  further  best  to  do, 
An  enterprising  genius  then  suggested, 

If  there  was  nothing  more  to  say  or  sing, 

They  play  a  game  of  "thimble-in-the-ring." 

XL  VIII. 

A  game  of  forfeits ;  and  the  forfeiture, 

Therein  exacted,  I  may  safely  say, 
Although  'twas  called  a  "  judgment,"  to  be  sure, 

Was  so  prescribed,  and  paid  in  such  a  way, 


WILLOTTGHBY'S  WISDOM.  177 

As  rendered  it  the  charm  which  should  allure 

A  youthful  company  into  the  play : 
And  this  was  partly  youthful,  partly  more 
Advanced  in  years,  as  we  have  seen  before. 

XLIX. 

But  this  did  not  defeat  the  proposition, 

Which  was  accepted  with  some  slight  demur ; 

And  one  or  two,  who  favored  prohibition 
Of  such  undignified  amusements,  were 

Induced  to  take  a  hand,  upon  condition 

That  judgments  shouldn't  rest  on  him  or  her, 

Or  them,  if  those  in  search  should  be  so  nimble 

As,  in  their  hands,  to  find  the  flying  thimble  : 

L. 

Which,  when  the  play  began,  went  round  and  round, 

A  while  so  slyly  as  to  give  no  sign, 
To  indicate  its  presence ;  but  'twas  found, 

At  length,  by  accident  and  by  design, 
With  Dr.  Hathaway  ;  and  he  was  bound, 

To  suffer  judgment  or  to  pay  his  fine, 
And  so  was  sentenced  to  St.  Peter's  dome, 
That  is,  to  choose  a  mate  and  "  go  to  Rome." 

LI. 

He  chose  as  partner,  the  retiring  maid, 
From  the  arena,  who  had  found  the  prize 

In  his  possession  ;  who  should  thus  be  paid, 
As  he  remarked,  for  being  so  unwise. 

Were  that  the  heaviest  burden  ever  laid 
On  human  shoulders,  we  could  exercise 

More  patience  and  more  willingness  to  bear 

What  might  be  reckoned  as  an  equal  share. 


178  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 


LII. 

She  seemed  a  pretty  girl  of  twenty-two, 
Or  may  be  twenty- three  or  twenty-four ; 

And  when  she  came  before  my  hero,  who 
Had  been  presented  to  her  by  the  door, 

On  coming  in,  he  rose,  that  he  might  do 
His  part  politely,  though  he  saw  no  more 

About  her  then,  of  beauty's  fair  impress, 

Than  many  another  lady  might  possess. 

LIII. 

Her  face  he  wasn't  interested  in, 

At  first  appearance,  more  especially 
Than  he  might  easily  enough  have  been 

In  those  of  other  girls  he  chanced  to  see. 
It  was  remarked  to  him  she  came  from  Lynn, 

Which  has  some  pleasant  memories  for  me, 
Though  having  none  for  him —  at  least  not  then  — 
Through  which  to  call  past  pleasures  up  again. 

LIV. 

And  yet  she  had  a  certain  native  grace, 
That's  better  calculated  to  command 

Appreciation  than  a  pretty  face  ; 

And  when  he  touched  her  shoulder  with  his  hand, 

He  felt  a  presence  which  he  couldn't  trace, 
Upon  her  countenance,  or  understand  ; 

But  he  imagined,  though  he  might  be  wrong, 

That  possibly  'twas  she  that  sang  the  song. 

LV. 

And  when  she  tendered  him  the  modest  kiss, 
That  each  received  in  turn,  he  felt  a  thrill 

Of  pleasure  which,  though  not  exactly  bliss, 
Was  quite  sufficient  for  the  time,  to  fill 


179 


His  cup  of  earthly  happiness ;  and  this, 

Though  frequently  the  harbinger  of  ill, 
He  half  regarded  as  an  indication 
Of  mutual  love ;  at  least  in  expectation. 

LVI. 

O  thrill  of  love !  thou  art  a  fickle  guest ; 

Thy  visits  are  but  few  and  transitoiy ; 
Thou  comest  not  at  any  known  behest, 

And  comest  not  to  stay,  except  in  story : 
Thou  hast  been  felt  in  almost  every  breast, 

Yet  thine  is  but  a  momentary  glory, 
Which  then  subsides  and  quickly  fades  away, 
Like  sunset  grandeur  of  a  summer's  day. 

LVII. 

As  an  emotion,  love  is  but  a  myth, 
Or  little  better  than  a  myth,  at  most ; 

Although  at  first  it  rears  its  monolith, 

And  of  the  temple  seems  the  corner  post ; 

And  binds  the  heart  as  by  a  birchen  wyth, 
But  vanishes  as  quickly  as  a  ghost ; 

And  breaks  as  easily  as  wyths  around 

The  giant  Samson,  whom  Del.illah  bound. 

LVIII. 

But  as  a  principle  it  may  be  true, 

And  more  continuous  ;  but  Will,  as  yet, 

Was  not  in  love,  so  far  as  then  he  knew, 
Although  he  was  entangled  in  the  net 
(Whose  meshes  thus  entangle  not  a  few), 
Which  had  been  unintentionally  set  — 

At  least  it  didn't  seem  to  be  intended, 

Though  fate's  design  may  not  be  apprehended. 


180 


LIX. 

While  in  the  game  he  subsequently  sought 

For  opportunity  to  do  again, 
That  which,  on  this  occasion,  had  been  fraught 

With  fascinating  pleasure.     Now  and  then 
She  came  into  his  presence,  and  he  thought 

She  seemed  to  kindly  smile  upon  him  when, 
Good  taste  would  sanction  it,  whenever  they 
Were  brought  together  in  the  merry  play. 

LX. 

But  neither  with  his  planning  nor  desire, 
To  somehow  bring  about  another  kiss, 

Would  changing  circumstances  so  conspire, 
As  to  accomplish  it.     He  seemed  to  miss 

The  half  recurring  chances,  though  the  fire, 
Enkindled  by  the  other,  was,  I  wis, 

Still  burning  in  his  bosom,  all  aglow, 

And  seeking  fuel  which  should  keep  it  so. 

LXI. 

And  so  it  happened,  when  the  play  was  done, 
That  ere  he  left,  he  got  her  private  ear, 

In  conversation,  and  had  soon  begun 
To  cultivate  her  friendship  in  sincere 

And  honest  fashion ;  though  as  any  one, 
Not  yet  at  least  designing  to  appear 

More  friendly  than  legitimately  might 

A  stranger,  well  bred,  civil  and  polite. 

LXII. 

He'd  then  forgotten  what  they  called  her  name, 
As  he  remarked  on  sitting  down  beside  her; 

He'd  heard  them  call  her  Nellie  in  the  game, 
And  she  informed  him  it  was  Nellie  Ryder. 


181 

He  said  he  hoped  it  might  remain  the  same, 

Until  the  best  of  fortune  should  betide  her, 
In  changing  it  for  one  of  equal  merit, 
With  all  the  joy  such  changes  e'er  inherit. 

LXIII. 

He  hoped  that  furthermore,  ere  that  should  be, 

Their  slight  acquaintance  might  be  more  complete  ; 

And  she  responded  she  was  glad  to  see 

Those  whom  she  knew,  and  whom  she  chanced  to  meet ; 

But  now  'twas  evidently  fate's  decree, 

That  they  must  part ;  so,  rising  from  his  seat, 

He  bowed  politely,  not  to  be  remiss, 

And  said  good  night  without  a  second  kiss. 

LXIV. 

Some  two  weeks  later,  when  the  mail  came  round, 

The  pennypost  delivery  of  the  day, 
Among  his  letters  —  two  or  three  — he  found 

A  hasty  note  from  Dr.  Hathaway. 
The  words  were  few,  but  had  a  thrilling  sound, 

For  very  briefly  he  went  on  to  say, 
"  As  soon  as  'tis  convenient,  please  come  in 
And  see  me ;  we're  invited  down  to  Lynn." 

LXV. 

He  didn't  look  around  for  hack  or  "  bus," 

And  street  cars  then  were  scarcely  yet  invented. 

They  didn't  carry  as  they  carry  us, 
For  revenues  so  rapidly  augmented, 

By  men  whose  measures  we  may  not  discuss, 
Whose  capital  is  heavily  per  cented, 

In  Metropolitan  and  Highland  shares, 

Which  long  oppressed  the  poor  with  extra  fares. 


182 


LXVI. 

O  greed  of  gold !  thou  knowest  nor  high  nor  low, 
Except  the  height  and  depth  of  coffers  filled 

With  shining  treasure  till  they  overflow, 
And  their  possessors'  equipages  gild, 

With  all  the  regal  splendor  princes  know, 
And  many  a  huge  palatial  mansion  build 

In  countries  which  all  kingly  power  disown, 

Though  human  rights  be  largely  overthrown. 

LXVII. 

When  Garfield  fell,  by  murder's  cruel  deed, 
Men  gathered  round  to  save  a  fallen  brother, 

The  world  devoutly  prayed  they  might  succeed, 
As  well  the  stranger  as  the  aged  mother. 

The  doctors  came  to  help  him  in  his  need, 

The  ball  went  one  way,  they  probed  in  the  other, 

And  the  exact  position  it  was  in, 

They  promptly  told  us  in  their  bulletin. 

LXVIII. 

And  when  at  last  death  claimed  him  for  its  own, 
As  eagles  gather  "  where  the  carcass  is," 

Each  vampire  had  a  mighty  vulture  grown, 
To  prey  upon  all  human  maladies, 

And  with  a  greed  that  had  been  seldom  shown, 
Now  deemed  that  half  the  country's  wealth  was  his, 

Because  he  sought  to  cure  or  helped  to  kill, 

The  wounded  President  whose  pulse  was  still. 

LXIX. 

The  nation  yet,  the  other  patient  dead, 
Is  being  treated  for  her  chronic  bane, 

The  treatment  such  as  doctors  long  were  bred 
To,  namely,  that  of  opening  a  vein ; 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  183 

And  she  alas !  so  often  has  been  bled, 

She  seems  to  feel  no  loss,  or  sense  of  pain, 
But  yields  herself  a  nonresisting  prey, 
While  slowly  ebbs  her  waning  life  away. 

LXX. 

'Twas  in  the  morning  Will  received  the  word, 
Some  time  before  the  lectures  would  begin ; 

And  he  was  curious,  from  what  he'd  heard, 
To  know  who  'twas  inviting  them  to  Lynn, 

Although  in  guessing  he  could  not  have  erred, 
As  there  was  no  one  else  it  could  have  been, 

And  yet  he  started  at  a  rapid  pace, 

To  ask  the  Dr.  more  about  the  case. 

LXXI. 

Miss  Ryder  was  a  relative  of  his, 

The  doctor's  —  or  related  to  his  wife, 

As  nearly  as  a  second  cousin  is, 

And  she  besides,  had  known  her  all  her  life  ; 

And  now  a  meeting  of  the  families 

Had  been  proposed  to  keep  old  memories  rife  ; 

And  Nellie  to  the  doctor  had  suggested 

That  Will,  in  whom  he  seemed  quite  interested, 

LXXII. 

Might  be  invited  if  he  thought  he  would 

Regard  it  as  a  privilege  to  come, 
Though  there  was  no  great  reason  why  he  should, 

As  the  attractions,  at  the  maximum, 
Would  be  but  little  that  a  stranger  could 

Enjoy,  unless  he  magnified  them  some, 
Which  she,  perhaps,  had  felt  she  might  expect  him 
To  do,  unless  the  doctor  should  neglect  him. 


184  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

LXXIII. 

The  doctor  said,  "  Although  a  little  shy, 

I  think  she's  interested  in  you,  too, 
And  you,  I  venture  now  to  prophesy, 

Will  be  the  only  one  invited  who 
Is  not  related.     She  assumed  'twas  I 

That  wanted  you  to  go,  and  so  I  do, 
As  I've  requested  you,  but  she,  I  guess, 
Is  also  looking  for  you  none  the  less." 

LXXIV. 

Will  said  he  should  be  glad  to  think  'twas  so, 
And  in  his  inner  consciousness  was  glad 

Of  what  there  was  of  evidence  to  show 
That  'twas,  or  of  the  little  proof  he  had ; 

And  he  at  once  decided  he  would  go, 

And  trust  to  fortune  and  to  chance  to  add 

Somewhat  of  interest  to  that  which  he 

Believed  was  mutual  in  seme  degree. 

LXXV. 

And  when  the  day  the  invitation  named, 

At  length  arrived,  he  found  himself  in  Lynn  ; 

A  handsome  city,  which  has  long  been  famed 
For  handsome  shoes  the  world  is  standing  in ; 

Although  perhaps  so  much  should  not  be  claimed, 
For  beauty  of  its  women.     There  have  been, 

However,  some  within  that  goodly  city, 

Whom  I  have  known,  and  have  esteemed  them  pretty. 

LXXVI. 

He  strolled  about,  with  nothing  else  to  do, 
And  in  the  window  of  a  large  shoe  store, 

He  saw  a  badly  worn  and  cast  off  shoe,  f 

The  upper  half  divided  from  the  lower, 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  185 

By  being  ripped  till  nearly  torn  in  two, 

The  two  parts  standing  like  an  open  door, 
Or  partly  open  one,  somewhat  distended, 
Until  it  might  be  deemed  past  being  mended. 

LXXVII. 

The  pegs  were  standing  in  a  double  row, 
Their  number  having  seemingly  increased, 

So  many  being  in  the  sole  below, 

The  upper  having  none  the  less,  at  least, 

Like  rows  of  teeth  that  dogs  are  wont  to  show, 
The  whole  resembling  some  ferocious  beast, 

Or  reptile,  such  as  come  from  the  equator ; 

And  this  was  labelled  a  "  Lynn  alley  gaiter." 

LXXVIII. 

Will  stood  a  minute  to  admire  the  pun, 
And  laugh  at  such  a  comical  invention, 

At  least  it  seemed  to  him  so  cute  a  one 
As  to  be  worth  an  incidental  mention ; 

And  when  he  turned  in  the  declining  sun, 
A  customer  attracted  his  attention  ; 

For  he  discovered  Nellie  Ryder  there, 

Among  the  boots,  and  trying  on  a  pair. 

LXXIX. 

When  he  went  in,  she  proffered  him  her  hand  — 

"  I'm  not  quite  ready  yet  for  company, 
But  shall  be  soon,"  she  said,  with  manner  bland, 

And  added,  "then  I'll  take  you  home  with  me." 
And  he  was  at  her  service  on  demand  — 

"  But  let  me  get  my  other  boot,"  said  she, 
«'  I  have  but  one,  and  I  shall  need  the  other, 
Though  first  I'll  introduce  you  to  my  mother." 


186 


LXXX. 

A  woman  nearly  fifty  years  of  age, 

Whom  Will  had  scarcely  noticed  sitting  there, 
Or  scarcely  seen,  now  came  upon  the  stage, 

And  though  some  gray  was  sprinkled  in  her  hair, 
She  still  was  handsome  ;  and  she  could  engage 

In  conversation  with  a  genial  air, 
But  Will  was  disappointed  thus  to  find 
Her  there,  for  he  was  conning  in  his  mind, 

LXXXI. 

Some  sentimental  sentences  to  use, 

When  he  and  Nellie  should  be  on  the  way 

To  Nellie's  home ;  and  fate  would  now  refuse 
The  opportunity,  and  say  him  nay  : 

And  as  the  mother  they  could  not  excuse, 
The  interesting  things  that  he  would  say, 

Must  all,  for  now  at  least,  remain  unsaid, 

Although  they  still  kept  running  in  his  head. 

LXXXII. 

At  length  they  stood  before  the  residence 

Of  Julius  Ryder  on  a  quiet  street, 
A  plain  two  story  house,  a  picket  fence, 

Enclosing  grounds  commodious  and  neat, 
An  elm  tree  standing  by  the  gate,  and  thence 

A  gravel  walk,  wherein  they  chanced  to  meet 
With  Mr.  Ryder,  near  the  portico, 
When  Nellie  said,  "  My  father  you  must  know, 

LXXXIII. 

'Tis  Mr.  Hayden,  he's  the  doctoi  s  friend  ; 

The  doctor's  folks  are  coming  by  and  by  ; 
He  left  him  making  calls  at  the  South  End, 

But  said  they'd  come  to  tea,  at  least  would  try, 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  187 

Which,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  lend 

A  hand  in  getting  ;  but  so  please  you,  I 
Will  take  your  coat  first,"  she  remarked  to  Will, 
As  they  were  entering  the  domicile. 


LXXXIV. 

So  he  took  off  his  coat  and  followed  her 
Along  the  hall  to  where  the  hat-tree  was, 

And  when  they  were  alone,  he  said,  "  You  were 
Most  kind  to  summon  me,  no  doubt  because 

The  Dr.  knew  me,  and  I  should  demur, 
Perhaps,  against  so  indirect  a  clause 

In  the  indictment."     She  replied,  "  O  no, 

You're  quite  mistaken,  for  it  wasn't  so. 

LXXXV. 

"  I  asked  you  simply  that  I  wanted  you 

To  come ;  and  here  in  our  suburban  home, 

Our  slight  acquaintance  to  perhaps  renew, 
To  some  extent,  but  now  I'll  let  you  roam 

A  little  by  yourself ;  "  and  he,  in  view 

Of  love's  fair  fane,  of  turret,  tower  and  dome, 

As  he  imagined,  strolled  through  room  and  hall, 

Until  the  bell  announced  another  call. 

LXXXVI. 

As  they  expected,  ere  'twas  time  for  tea, 
At  least  before  the  table  had  been  laid, 

The  Dr.  came,  as  well  as  two  or  three 

More  city  friends,  by  public  coach  conveyed, 

And  after  supper,  when  both  land  and  sea 
Were  being  mantled  by  the  deepening  shade, 

Some  others  living  nearer  by,  came  in, 

Who  were  at  once  their  neighbors  and  their  kin. 


188 


LXXXVII. 


And  when  their  hats  and  things  were  laid  aside, 
And  they  were  seated  in  a  winding  row, 

They  chatted  cheerily  of  wind  and  tide, 
Of  haps  and  happenings,  as  matters  go, 

How  things  were  moving  in  the  world  so  wide, 
Of  their  affairs,  which  can't  be  mine,  you  know, 

Except  to  say  the  visit  speeded  well, 

Including  several  games  of  bagatelle. 

LXXXVIII. 

The  board  was  large  and  quite  elaborate, 

And  stood  upon  a  large  piano  in 
The  small  back  parlor,  and  it  had  of  late, 

Been  brought  by  Nellie's  uncle  back  to  Lynn, 
From  his  sojournings  by  the  Golden  Gate 

Of  California,  where  he  had  been, 
And  whither  he  had  gone.     And  he  had  said 
It  might  be  hers  whenever  she  should  wed. 

LXXXIX. 

Will  played  with  Nellie  and  the  Dr.'s  wife, 

Against  the  Dr.  and  two  other  men, 
Though  in  his  own  experience  in  life, 

He'd  never  witnessed  such  a  game  till  then, 
And  yet  so  nearly  equal  was  the  strife, 

That,  though  they  lost  the  "rubber  game,"  'twas  when, 
As  seeming  triumph  was  about  to  greet  them, 
The  Dr.  made  a  lucky  score  and  beat  them. 

xc. 

Will  often  wished  that  he  could  get  a  chance 

To  interview  Miss  Nellie  when  alone, 
Thereby  his  future  prospects  to  enhance, 

And  she  had  aspirations  of  her  own ; 


WISDOM.  189 

But  they  had  made  no  very  marked  advance, 
Unless,  indeed,  the  seeds  were  being  sown, 
Which  might,  perhaps,  develop  by  and  by, 
Although  too  early  yet  to  prophesy. 

xci. 

He  did,  however,  playing  bagatelle, 

Or  rather  when  the  triple  game  was  ended, 

Conduct  his  private  enterprise  so  well, 

That  he  accomplished  what  he  had  intended, 

To  some  extent,  for  when  the  last  ball  fell 
Upon  its  resting  place,  and  was  suspended, 

And  they  had  voted  to  suspend  the  play, 

He  turned  to  Nellie  and  went  on  to  say, 

XCII. 

"  It's  quite  a  pretty  game,  though  new  to  me, 
And  quite  a  pretty  place,  your  little  city ; 

At  least  that  part  of  it  which  I  could  see, 

In  my  brief  wanderings."     "  And  'tis  a  pity," 

She  said,  "  they  were  so  brief.     If  I  may  be 
A  self  appointed,  self  controlled  committee 

Of  invitation,  I'll  invite  you,  when 

You  can  conveniently,  to  come  again. 

XCIII. 

"  You'd  like  to  clamber  up  upon  the  brow 

Of  old  High  Rock,  or  stroll  along  the  shore  ;  "  — . 

He  turned  his  eyes  and  saw  that  they  were  now 
More  by  themselves  than  they  had  been  before, 

And  in  an  undertone  he  said,  "  Somehow 
I  feel  the  more  inclined  to  come,  the  more 

I  am  persuaded  ;  and  if  you  will  go 

And  see  these  places  with  me,  which,  you  know, 


190 


XCIV. 


"  To  interesting  objects  lends  a  charm, 

I'd  like  to  come  and  see  them  by  and  by, 
When  spring  advances  till  the  sun  is  warm , 

Until  the  ground  is  also  warm  and  dry, 
When  strolling  out  of  doors  will  do  no  harm, 

And  be  enjoyable."     In  her  reply, 
She  frankly  said,  as  soon  as  he  was  through, 
"  I'm  sure  I  should  be  very  happy  to." 

xcv. 

"No  sooner  were  the  words,  however,  spoken,, 
Than  some  one  came  into  the  atmosphere 

Surrounding  them;  and  so  the  spell  was  broken, 
Though  Nellie's  eye  was  moistened  with  a  tear ; 

Which  might  have  been  regarded  as  a  token 
Of  more  than  was  permitted  to  appear 

Upon  the  surface ;  as  the  heart  may  feel, 

At  times,  what  prudence  prompts  us  to  conceal. 

xcvi. 

Nor  did  the  evening  furnish  opportunity 
For  further  conversation,  saving  such 

As  was  appropriate  to  their  community 
Of  social  interests.     However  much 

There  might  have  been  of  that  celestial  unity 
Of  feeling  which  surroundings  cannot  touch, 

They  couldn't  give  expression  to  it,  so 

If  it  were  felt  or  not,  they  didn't  know. 

xcvu. 

And  when  twas  time  that  they  must  say  good  by, 
They  knew  not  whether  each  had  found  a  friend. 

They  looked  inquiringly,  but  no  reply 

From  either  came,  which  they  could  comprehend ; 


191 

And  there  was  no  embrace,  no  kiss,  no  sigh, 

Naught  save  what  true  politeness  might  intend 
As  mere  civility  ;  and  still  in  doubt, 
They  shook  hands,  said  good  night,  and  he  went  out. 

XCVIII. 

When  he  was  gone,  and  she  had  shut  the  door, 
Her  father  said,  "  My  dear,  is  that  some  beau 

You've  lately  found,  or  one  you've  known  before  ?  " 
She  said,  "  I  should  be  satisfied  to  know 

That  he  was  either  one.     He'll  come  once  more, 
I  think,  and  then  I'll  try  to  make  him  so, 

Against  which  he,  however,  may  protest ; " 

Which  might  have  been  in  earnest  or  in  jest. 

xcix. 

Will  reached  the  city  by  the  Eastern  train, 
Which  then  arrived  a  little  after  ten, 

And  queried  if  his  trip  had  been  in  vain, 
Or  if  'twere  worth  his  while  to  go  again  — 

A  mental  question,  coming  from  the  brain, 
The  heart  as  promptly  answering  that  when 

Occasion  favored  it,  he'd  try  and  win 

Some  further  conquests  on  the  shores  of  Lynn. 

c. 

When  at  his  boarding  place,  his  smiling  chum, 

Who  wasn't  yet  in  bed,  accosted  him, 
"Hello,  my  friend,  I'm  very  glad  you've  come, 

Is  love's  star  growing  bright,  or  growing  dim  ?  " 

Will  ordinarily  was  pretty  mum, 

In  such  affairs,  but  wasn't  so  with  Tim ; 

And  frankly  answered  him,  "  It  glimmers  yet, 

It  hasn't  risen  much,  nor  has  it  set." 


192 


ci. 


He  then  detailed  to  him  the  circumstances 

Connected  with  the  visit  just  concluded, 
To  show  that  it  contained  not  many  chances 

To  ascertain  if  he  had  been  deluded, 
As  he  could  make  but  very  few  advances  — 

"  And  she,  I  dare  say,  made  no  more  than  you  did," 
Suggested  Tim ;  "  why  not  sit  down  and  write  her  ? 

Or  you  might  make  a  party  and  invite  her  ;  — 

en. 

"  A  literary  party,  such  as  these 

You're  having  now  at  Dr.  Hathaway 's, 

Where  you  would  be  at  home  and  quite  at  ease, 
As  well  in  letters  as  the  coming  plays. 

I'll  give  a  recitation  if  you  please, 

Of  some  old  warrior's  deeds  or  poet's  lays, 

Some  great  oration  or  some  little  verse, 

Which,  if  we  had  a  rostrum,  I'd  rehearse." 

cm. 

He  went  and  took  a  drawer  from  the  sink, 
And  turned  it  bottom  upwards  on  the  floor, 

And  standing  on  it,  seemed  to  try  to  think 
Of  some  old  declamation,  learned  of  yore, 

That  might  supply  a  necessary  link, 

In  such  proceedings.     Then  he  said,  "  Encore ! 

I'll  give  'em  that  <  Old  Fifer,'  that  will  do ;  " 

And  he  commenced,  and  thus  rehearsed  it  through. 

THE  OLD  FIFER. 

No  longer  we  hear  the  old  fifer  play 

The  martial  music  he  loved  so  much, 
The  shrill  notes  which,  for  many  a  day, 

Had  answered  oft  to  the  magic  touch 


193 


Of  his  wrinkled  fingers,  long  and  lean, 
Yet  losing  none  of  their  old-time  skill, 

In  conjuring  up  from  realms  unseen, 
The  fairy  forms  of  the  master's  will. 

Although  his  fingers  were  lean  and  long, 

The  finger  of  time  had  made  them  so, 
For  they  were  supple  and  full  and  strong, 

In  the  halcyon  days  of  long  ago; 
For  now  it  is  three  score  years  and  ten  — 

The  time  allotted  to  human  life — 
Since  Uncle  Perry  —  a  stripling  then  — 

Began  to  play  the  inspiring  fife. 

When  John  Bull  came  to  our  north  frontier, 

Unfurling  his  flag  in  the  noontide  gleam, 
When  the  roar  of  his  lion  proclaimed  him  near, 

When  Johnathan's  eagle  began  to  scream, 
The  fifer  responded  straightway  to  the  call, 

And  soon  with  his  regiment,  drilled  therefor, 
In  spite  of  the  enemy's  powder  and  ball, 

Marched  off  to  play  in  impending  war. 

Where  strife  was  raging  and  hearts  beat  high, 

With  dauntless  courage  that  would  not  yield, 
He  helped  to  win,  on  the  fifth  of  July, 

The  bloody  encounter  on  Chippewa's  field. 
Then  chasing  the  foe  to  Niagara's  shore, 

He  there  still  mingled  his  patriot  strain 
With  the  booming  of  guns  and  the  cataract's  roar, 

At  the  subsequent  battle  of  Lundy's  Lane. 

When  war  was  over,  the  fifer  returned, 

From  fields  of  carnage  and  scenes  of  strife, 
But  still  in  his  bosom  there  glowed  and  burned, 

A  quenchless  love  for  his  martial  fife. 
As  age  drew  on,  it  was  still  the  same, 

He  awaited  the  cars  in  his  rustic  seat, 
And  carrolled  his  welcome  to  all  who  came, 

Repeating  his  airs  in  the  neighboring  street. 

On  an  empty  box  by  the  grocery  store, 

He  sat  in  the  sun  and  piped  away, 
As  if  he  imagined  himself  once  more, 

Encouraging  men  to  the  deadly  fray. 


194 


Or  as  if,  perchance,  in  a  milder  mood, 
He  wondered  if  ever  grim  war  would  cease, 

Or  whether  his  art  would  still  be  wooed, 
In  the  tranquil  reign  of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

When  age  and  feebleness  held  him  fast, 

Three  days  before  the  dread  visitor  came, 
To  bring  him  the  summons  which  comes  at  last, 

He  called  for  his  fife ;  as  the  flickering  name 
Flashed  up  once  more ;  and  his  heart  grew  strong, 

His  fingers  resumed  their  cunning  and  skill, 
The  notes  were  clear  he  could  not  prolong, 

And  now  they  are  silent :  his  pulse  is  still. 

The  railroad  vehicles  come  and  go, 

The  old  sledge-hammer  still  sounds  the  wheels, 
But  Uncle  Perry  sleeps  under  the  snow, 

And  the  heart  instinctively,  pensively  feels 
The  force  of  the  truth  that  'tis  all  men's  doom, 

That  mortals  approach  to  the  farther  shore ; 
The  spring  shall  come,  and  the  flowers  shall  bloom, 

But  the  merry  old  fifer  may  come  no  more. 


CIV. 

Tim  stood  a  moment  with  a  sober  face, 

Which  then  resumed  its  humorous  expression, 

As  he  returned  his  "  rostrum  "  to  its  place, 

And  left  the  oratorical  profession. 
"  Your  girl  can  sing,"  he  said,  "  with  better  grace, 
Than  I  can  speak,  and  more  of  self  possession  ; 

And  then  we'll  play  at  thimble-in-the-ring, 

Or  button,  roll-the-plate,  or  some  such  thing ; 

cv. 

"  And  when  I  kiss  her  in  some  kissing  play, 
I  may  discover  there  was  nothing  in  it ; 
Your  prize  may  be  a  blank,  you  cannot  say, 
If  even  it  were  possible  to  win  it ; 


WISDOM.  195 

And  all  you  know  about  her  any  way, 

Is  what  you  learned  in  less  than  half  a  minute ; 
And  she  was  kissing  everybody  then  ; 
Your  <  magnetism '  might  have  come  from  men, 

cvi. 

"  Whose  lips  were  pressing  hers,  for  aught  you  know, 
And  so  have  come  to  you  but  second-handed ; 

And  if  it  should  be  proven  that  'twas  so, 

Your  little  skiff  of  love  would  then  be  stranded, 

Like  those  you  sailed  about  in  long  ago, 
Away  up  country,  and  yourself  be  landed 

Among  the  breakers  and  the  shoals  once  more, 

Or  high  and  dry  upon  the  sandy  shore." 

cvn. 

Will's  laugh  was  half  suggestive  of  a  sigh, 
At  least  the  humor  seemed  a  little  thin* 

Although  he  laughed,  and  said,  « I  think  I'll  try 
Once  more  myself,  as  I've  already  been 

Invited  to  repeat  "  —  "  The  kiss  ?  then  why 
The  dickens  didn't  you  when  you  were  in 

A  good  position  ?  "  interrupted  Tim ; 

But  Will,  resuming  and  correcting  him, 

CVIII. 

Said,  "  No,  the  visit,  my  dear  sir ;  you  seem 
Somewhat  facetious  over  this  affair ; 

You  may  regard  it  as  an  idle  dream, 
Or  only  as  a  castle  in  the  air. 

But,  saying  nothing  of  the  kiss,  I  deem 
The  lady  interesting,  who  would  bear 

More  intimate  acquaintance ;  whom  I  may, 

Or  may  not  love  ;  as  yet  I  cannot  say. 


196 


cix. 


•'  At  all  events  she  has  invited  me 

To  come  again,  and  ramble  on  the  shore, 

Along  with  her,  and  standing  by  the  sea, 
And  as  we  listen  to  its  magic  roar  — 

"  You'll  ask  her  if  she  doesn't  think  'twould  be 
Agreeable  to  go  to  Rome  once  more, 

And  she  one  partner,  you  can  be  the  other, 

Unless  she  is  attended  by  her  mother," 

ex. 

Said  Tim,  thus  interrupting  him  again, 
And  turning  what  he  had  begun  to  say, 

From  sentiment  to  humor ;  "  like  as  when 
You  found  her  trading  in  the  store  to-day," 

Continued  he,  "  and  if  so,  you'll  be  then, 
The  same  as  now,  compelled  to  come  away, 

The  problem  still  unsolved."     "  And  then,"  Will  said, 

"  I'll  go  again ;  but  now  let's  go  to  bed." 

CXI. 

And  so  they  did,  and  so  the  case  was  rested, 
As  we  will  rest  anon,  and  Will  returned 

To  where  the  scientific  truths  were  tested, 

With  which,  at  present,  he  was  more  concerned  ; 

Although  his  heart  was  more  or  less  congested, 
With  its  incipient  love,  which  slowly  burned, 

The  while  his  closing  studies  he  pursued, 

Or  those  of  yore  he  hastily  reviewed. 

cxn. 

He  graduated  shortly  after  that, 

And  his  diploma,  written  out  in  Latin  — 

A  classic  tongue,  ut  yloriam  efferat  — 

Contained  the  name  — and  named  the  chair  he  sat  in  - 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  197 

Of  him  whose  Breakfast  Table  Autocrat  — 

Although  he  hadn't  then,  I  think,  put  that  in 
The  public  prints  —  has  made  him  famed  to-day, 
For  wit  and  wisdom,  and  "  The  One  Hoss  Shay." 

CXIII. 

And  after  graduation  he  began 

To  practice  medicine,  as  doctors  do  — 
But  first  we  will  discover,  if  we  can, 

If  this  new  love  affair  of  his,  fell  through, 
Or  if,  for  once,  the  course  of  true  love  ran 

More  smoothly  than  it  is  accustomed  to  — 
But  not  until  the  canto  is  begun, 

That  is  to  say,  the  next  succeeding  one. 


198  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 
I. 

'Twas  early  summer ;  and  the  song  of  bird 
Fell  on  the  grateful  ear  from  wood  and  lea : 

Glad  nature's  pulse  had  recently  been  stirred 
With  new  life  vigor,  like  a  soul  set  free ; 

But  Nellie  Ryder  hadn't  heard  a  word 
From  Will,  about  his  visit  to  the  sea ; 

Although  she  knew  the  college  course  was  done, 

And  of  the  graduates  that  he  was  one. 

ii. 

She  sat  one  day  —  one  pleasant  afternoon, 

Or  early  evening,  in  a  rustic  seat, 
Upon  the  lawn  ;  and,  gazing  at  the  moon, 

Whose  growing  disc  was  then  almost  complete, 
Was  singing  pensively  of  bonnie  Doon, 

Whose  little  warblers  chanted  notes  so  sweet, 
Whose  banks  and  braes  could  not  have  been  more  fair 
Than  field  and  lawn  now  blooming  freshly  there. 

in. 

While  thus  she  sat,  her  father  came  along, 
From  doing  business  at  his  grocery  store, 

And  stopped  to  listen  to  the  Scottish  song, 
She  half  unconsciously  was  chiming  o'er, 


WISDOM.  199 

And  laughing,  said,  "  I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong 

With  your  '  false  lover,'  that  you  should  deplore, 
Unless  it  be  that  he  has  taken  flight, 
Where's  that  young  doctor  who  was  here  the  night 

IV. 

We  had  our  gathering  ?     I  thought  you  said 
That  he  would  come  again  another  day : 

He  seemed  a  gentleman,  at  least  well  bred, 
I  rather  liked  the  fellow.     By  the  way, 

I  have  a  letter  for  you  which  may  shed 

Some  light  upon  the  subject;  who  can  say? 

I  didn't  know  the  hand,  it  may  be  his." 

She  opened  it  and,  blushing,  said,  "  It  is." 

v. 

The  father,  whistling  some  familiar  air, 
Went  up  the  steps  upon  the  portico, 

And  in  the  house,  and  left  the  daughter  there ; 
And  she,  with  much  of  interest,  I  trow, 

Was  following  the  lines  with  anxious  care, 

And  what  they  were,  the  reader  too  shall  know, 

For  thus  she  read,  I  thus  transcribing  it, 

As  hereinafter  specified,  to  wit : 

VI. 

'  Dear  Madam  —  in  the  spring  I  promised  you 
I'd  call  upon  you  later  in  the  season, 

And  fear  that  I'm  a  little  overdue, 

Although  for  that  there's  been  sufficient  reason  ; 

And  now  I  write  the  promise  to  renew, 
Lest  I  be  guilty  of  a  greater  treason 

To  social  obligation  thus  incurred, 

To  be  fulfilled  according  to  my  word. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

VII. 

"And  if,  some  night,  which  you  will  please  to  name, 
A  hasty  visit  would  be  welcome  still, 

Or  if  preferred,  some  day  would  be  the  same, 
Some  day  or  night,  according  to  your  will, 

Or  your  convenience,  I  will  own  the  claim 
Of  pledge  and  promise,  and  will  then  fulfil ; 

And  in  return  will  call  to  your  attention, 

The  ramble  you  were  pleased  to  kindly  mention ; 

VIII. 

"  Along  the  rugged  edge,  and  up  the  steep 

Of  Lynn's  High  Rock,  or  by  the  mystic  sea  ; 

To  gaze  upon  *  the  blue  and  moonlit  deep,' 
From  off  the  beach  that  you  described  to  me  ; 

A  time  and  place  to  let  the  glamour  creep 
O'er  hearts  that  may  be  for  the  moment  free 

From  toil  and  care,  and  from  temptation  too, 

As  free  as  watery  deep  or  azure  blue. 

IX. 

"  And  in  our  walks  beneath  the  shining  moon, 
We'll  muse  of  nature's  loveliness  divine ; 

Or  haply  sit,  through  sunny  afternoon, 

And  calmly  watch  the  peaceful  day's  decline ; 

And  thank  the  Father  for  the  precious  boon 
Of  joy  that  comes  to  your  heart  and  to  mine, 

In  contemplation  of  the  moon's  soft  rays, 

Or  of  the  beauty  of  the  summer  days. 


I  trust  you  will  excuse  my  long  delay, 
And  seeming  negligence,  for  I  have  been 

So  much  engaged  I  couldn't  get  away, 
With  no  excuse  but  visiting  in  Lynn ; 


201 


But  hope  to  see  you  at  an  early  day, 

Expecting  much  of  happiness  therein, 
Provided  you  express,  in  your  reply, 
The  wish  that  I  should  come :  till  then,  good-by." 

XI. 

She  read  it  through,  and  when  the  signature 

Had  been  pronounced,  she  looked  it  over  still, 
As  if  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure 

That  'twas  a  true  expression  of  good  will ; 
Not  some  hallucination  to  allure 

The  heart  into  a  hope  foreboding  ill ; 
For  she,  it  may  not  be  denied,  was  now 

More  interested  than  she  would  avow. 

XII. 

Of  course  she  wrote  him  in  reply,  although 
It  may  be  deemed  impertinent  to  tell 

Just  what  she  said ;  but  as  I  chance  to  know, 
And  as  I  think  'twould  suit  my  readers  well, 

And  as  it  is  my  duty  to  bestow 

On  them  the  knowledge  of  just  what  befell, 

I  give  the  letter  that  she  wrote,  verbatim. 

At  literatim,  even  punctuatim. 

xm. 

"  Dear  Sir  —  that  I  will  welcome  you  almost 

At  any  time  except  when  I'm  in  school, 
I  haste  to  tell  you  by  return  of  post ; 

And  will  suggest  that  when  the  moon  is  full, 
'  Tis  more  enchanting  here  upon  the  coast, 

Although  a  '  hasty  visit,'  as  a  rule, 
Would  be  agreeable  at  any  time, 
And  now  especially  in  nature's  prime. 


202  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

XIV. 

"  As  you  request  that  I  shall  name  the  day, 

The  « day  or  night '  which  circumstances  seem 

To  render  most  convenient,  I  will  say 
That  Friday  of  the  present  week  I  deem 

The  most  available  in  every  way, 

Of  any  one  just  now,  and  would  esteem 

It  quite  a  privilege  to  see  you  then, 

At  four  or  five  of  post  meridian. 

xv. 

"  And  you  will  make  -arrangements  if  you  can, 
And  if  it  be  your  pleasure,  to  remain, 

At  least  till  Saturday,  that  we  may  plan 
A  visit  to  the  beach,  and  to  the  chain 

Of  rocks  behind  the  town,  that  I  began 

To  tell  you  of  when  here ;  but  you  will  gain 

A  better  knowledge  than  I  gave  you  then, 

When  they  are  brought  within  the  vision's  ken. 

XVI. 

And  in  our  wanderings,  as  you  suggest, 
We'll  muse  upon  the  loveliness  which  here 

Dame  nature  has  so  lavishly  impressed 
On  almost  every  object,  far  and  hear ; 

And  for  the  joys  with  which  our  lives  are  blest, 
Be  ever  thankful,  with  a  love  sincere, 

To  Him  who  gave  them;  and  that  you  may  share 

His  blessings  largely,  is  my  wish  and  prayer." 

XVII. 

The  letter  finished  and  the  name  appended, 

She  read  it  o'er  to  ascertain  if  she 
Were  free  from  errors,  or  they  might  be  mended 

(A  like  experience  occurs  to  me) , 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  203 

For  in  her  words  and  sentences  were  blended 
The  hopes  and  fears  of  what  was  yet  to  be ; 
Which  many  a  maiden's  heart  had  felt  before, 
And  doubtless  will  be  felt  by  many  more. 

XVIII. 

The  coining  Friday  didn't  fail  to  bring 

The  guest  whom  she  had  been  so  free  to  ask, 

And  to  the  door,  in  answer  to  his  ring, 
Soon  after  coming  from  her  daily  task 

Of  teaching  school,  she  went,  exhibiting 
A  pleasure  which  she  didn't  try  to  mask, 

But  frankly  said,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you  sir  ; " 

And  no  less  cordially  he  greeted  her. 

XIX. 

She  led  him  through  the  hall,  where  coat  and  hat 
Were  hung  upon  the  hat  tree  near  the  door, 

That  led  into  the  parlor  where  they  sat, 
So  many  of  them,  several  weeks  before  ; 

And  now  as  then,  she  showed  him  into  that, 
But  now  no  footsteps  pressed  upon  the  floor, 

Save  only  theirs :  no  presence  but  their  own  ; 

And  there  for  once,  they  found  themselves  alone. 

xx. 

And  this  was  what  he'd  wanted  ever  since 
They  first  had  met,  as  we  may  well  surmise, 

But  just  the  method  which  should  best  evince 
His  satisfaction,  he  could  not  devise. 

I  might,  perhaps,  have  given  him  some  hints, 
Though  I  am  not  in  such  things  over  wise, 

And  then  besides,  it  is  my  province  now, 

To  tell  you  what  he  did,  not  tell  him  how. 


204 


XXI. 


He  tried  to  think  of  what  he  couldn't  say  > 
The  other  time,  for  lack  of  opportunity ; 

But  now  the  words  had  somehow  slipped  away, 
Just  when  he  could  have  used  them  with  impunity, 

If  not  with  good  effect ;  and  he  —  or  they, 
Were  both  as  silent  as  a  staid  community 

Of  Friends  assembled,  calmly  waiting  there, 

To  have  the  Spirit  move  to  speech  or  prayer. 

XXII. 

'Twould  not,  however,  do  to  so  remain, 

And  he  could  hardly  frame  his  question  whether 

The  time  had  dragged,  or  whether  she  would  fain 
Have  made  it  shorter  ere  they  came  together. 

And  she  to  think  of  something  tried  in  vain, 
And  therefore  they  resorted  to  the  weather ; 

And  one  remarked  the  day  was  very  fine, 

Which  answered  well  enough  to  the  design 

xxin. 

Of  saying  something,  and  'twas  very  true, 

And  Mrs.  Ryder  thereupon  came  in, 
About  the  time  this  wise  remark  was  through, 

And  asking  how  he  was  and  how  he'd  been, 
Since  he  was  there  before,  "  I  welcome  you," 

She  said  most  pleasantly,  "  again  to  Lynn ; " 
Extending  both  her  hands,  the  frequent  mode 
By  which  she  welcomed  friends  to  her  abode. 

XXIV. 

As  I  have  been  received  by  some  good  dame, 
Of  years  and  dignity,  some  dear  old  friend, 

And  one  or  two  examples  I  could  name, 
Of  ladies  who  their  greetings  thus  extend ; 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  205 

But  then  I  might,  perhaps,  incur  some  blame  — 

And  broken  friendship's  rather  hard  to  mend  — 
So  I  refrain  from  giving  their  address, 
But  leave  it  for  my  other  friends  to  guess. 

xxv. 

And  this  time  Will  was  glad  to  see  the  mother, 
For  she  had  helped  to  dissipate  the  spell 

Of  awkwardness,  which  had,  somehow  or  other, 
Crept  in  upon  him,  as  it  were  the  knell 

Of  self  possession,  all  his  wits  to  smother, 
Which  ordinarily  had  served  him  well ; 

Which  Mrs.  Ryder  thus  restored  him,  when 

Our  youthful  Richard  was  himself  again. 

XXVI. 

At  length  they  went  the  evening  meal  to  get, 
When  Mr.  Ryder,  coming  from  the  store, 

Gave  Will  a  friendly  greeting  as  they  met, 
And  chatted  with  him  for  an  hour  or  more, 

When  they  had  eaten,  till  the  sun  had  set, 
And  he  and  Nellie  started  for  the  shore ; 

Which  being  rather  out  of  easy  reach, 

Her  father  carried  them  upon  the  beach. 

XXVII. 

He  said  to  Nellie,  "  Don't  stay  late,  my  dear," 
And  left  them  standing  on  the  drifting  sand. 

The  night  was  warm,  the  balmy  atmosphere 
Was  almost  motionless  on  sea  and  land. 

The  stars  were  just  beginning  to  appear, 
The  moon  ascending  to  the  sky  so  grand, 

It  being  full,  while  underneath  it  lay 

A  shining  belt  upon  the  watery  way. 


206  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 


XXVIII. 

Now  Will  and  Nellie  were  alone  once  more, 
But  circumstances  had  improved  meanwhile, 

And  they  could  not  but  partially  ignore 

Themselves,  while  looking  out  on  sea  and  isle  ; 

And  what  he  had  acquired  of  lovers'  lore, 
Was  more  available  ;  and  lovers'  guile, 

He  knew  but  little  of  in  any  hue, 

Nor  would  he  stoop  to  practice  what  he  knew. 

XXIX. 

Yet  I've  no  doubt  he  diligently  tried 
To  be  agreeable,  to  please  or  charm ; 

He  went  around  to  the  unusual  side, 

And  with  his  left  hand  gently  clasped  her  arm ; 

And  walking  thus,  looked  forth  upon  the  tide, 
Whose  tiny,  ceaseless  waves  could  do  no  harm 

To  even  such  a  web  of  gossamer 

As  he  was  weaving  while  he  walked  with  her. 

xxx. 

He  said  "  Miss  Nellie,"  then  he  dropped  the  Miss, 
And  called  her  simply  by  her  given  name  ; 

Nor  did  she  seem  at  all  displeased  at  this, 
But  grew  familiar  too,  about  the  same, 

In  swift  successive  metamorphosis, 

As  over  both  their  hearts  the  "  glamour  "  came, 

The  normal  sequence  of  the  "  time  and  place," 

And  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 

XXXI. 

Thus  long  and  sweetly  did  they  walk  and  talk, 
The  passing  moments  flying  swiftly  by, 

Until  their  shadows  gave  them  such  a  shock, 
On  turning  round  to  where  they  chanced  to  lie, 


207 

For  they  had  grown  so  short ;  they  seemed  to  mock 

Their  joy,  while  pointing  to  the  upper  sky, 
To  which  the  moon  had  climbed,  to  such  a  height, 
Approaching  rapidly  the  noon  of  night. 

xxxn. 

"  Oh  dear ! "  said  Nellie,  "  can  it  be  so  late, 

When  Father  said  we  mustn't  stay  ?  Oh  dear ! 

Let's  hurry  homeward  now  at  any  rate," 

And  taking  out  her  watch,  "why  just  look  here," 

Continued  she,  "  it's  almost  'leven  ;  fate 

Seems  now  against  us,  though  I  have  no  fear 

Of  being  scolded,  but  I  fear  they  may 

Regard  it  wrong  to  thus  have  staid  away." 

XXXIII. 

They  hurried  on  as  fast  as  they  could  go 
Conveniently,  the  moon  still  getting  higher, 

While  they  were  coming  down,  as  you  must  know, 
For  rapid  walking  suffocates  the  fire 

Then  burning  brightly  in  their  breasts,  although 
They  still  were  harping  on  the  golden  lyre 

Of,  well,  they  hadn't  called  it  love,  'tis  true, 

But  friendship     which  for  present  use  will  do. 

xxxiv. 

Next  day  we  find  them  basking  in  the  sun, 
On  famed  High  Rock,  that  overlooks  the  sea, 

Nahant  and  Lynn  between.     The  scene  was  one 
That,  when  I  saw  it,  quite  enchanted  me. 

The  afternoon  was  scarcely  yet  begun, 
The  sun  declining  in  a  slight  degree, 

And  such  a  day  we  seldom  look  upon ; 

They  come  but  rarely  and  they  soon  are  gone. 


208         WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

xxxv. 

I  would  describe  it  if  I  could,  but  no, 
'Twas  one,  of  which,  the  summer  season  through, 

Kind  nature  has  but  very  few  to  show, 
And  never  in  succession  even  two  ; 

So  clear,  so  bright,  so  calm,  so  silent,  so 
Extremely  charming  to  admirers  who 

Are  in  accord  with  nature's  harmonies, 

And  with  the  music  of  her  melodies. 

xxxvi. 

They  occupied  a  little  grassy  plot, 

With  which  the  native  rock  was  interspersed, 
Which  seemed  to  be  a  quite  convenient  spot , 

From  which  to  look  around;  and  they  were  versed 
In  that  great  art  of  seeing ;  and  could  not 

But  be  enamored  of  the  scene  at  first, 
But  an  enchantment  of  a  different  kind, 
At  length  drove  this  one  partly  out  of  mind. 

XXXVII. 

They  were  as  sociable  as  birds  in  spring; 

They  seemed  as  fond  as  kitten,  fawn  or  dove ; 
Though  flung  together  as  the  fates  will  fling, 

They  seemed  to  fit  each  other  like  a  glove. 
They  freely  talked  of  almost  everything, 

Of  friendship  and,  though  sparingly,  of  love, 
Whereon  they  both  appeared  to  be  intent, 
But  as  to  which  they  both  were  reticent. 

XXXVIII. 

But  by  and  by  he  looked  in  Nellie's  eyes, 

A  little  pensively,  while  in  his  own 
He  felt  the  moisture,  though  he  could  disguise 

Its  presence  for  a  time,  till  it  had  grown 


209 

Somewhat  persistent,  when  with  some  surprise, 

At  such  a  weakness,  which  had  thus  been  shown, 
He  quickly  brushed  the  starting  tear  away, 
And  earnestly  proceeded  thus  to  say : 

XXXIX. 

"  Tis  but  a  day,  and  scarcely  yet  a  day  — 

The  hours  have  told  but  twenty  since  I  came ; 

And  they  so  rapidly  have  slipped  away, 

That  if  'twere  one  'twould  seem  almost  the  same ;. 

And  but  for  one  thing  I  could  truly  say  — 

And  that  is  one  for  which  I  take  some  blame, 

And  doubtless  you  will  blame  me  more  or  less  — 

I  should  have  been  in  constant  happiness. 

XL. 

"  And  now  I  must  apologize  to  you, 
,     If  I  have  wronged  you,  as  I  really  fear 
I  may  have  done  to  some  extent,  in  view 

Of  certain  facts  which  I  must  tell  you  here ; 
Because  to  simple  justice  it  is  due, 

As  well  as  friendship,  if  it  be  sincere, 
As  ours  appears  to  be,  and  as  I  fain 
Would  know  that  it  forever  might  remain. 

XLI. 

" 'Twould  be  presumptuous,  should  I  assume 
That  you  were  waiting  for  a  proposition, 

And  thereupon  endeavor  to  illume 

Your  mind  in  reference  to  the  condition 

Of  my  affairs  ;  and  yet  I  may  presume 

That  you  at  least  will  grant  me  your  permission, 

To  say  that,  were  it  not  for  honor's  due, 

I  should  present  my  heart  and  hand  to  you. 


210 


XL1I. 


"  But  many  years  ago  I  loved  another  ; 

A  boyish  love,  and  one  I  sought  to  shun ; 
Thus  being  counselled  by  an  older  brother, 

'Don't  get  in  love  before  you're  twenty-one  ; ' 
And  thinking  he  was  right,  I  tried  to  smother 

The  passion,  which  I  partially  had  done ; 
But  this  new  love  revives  the  old.     Somehow, 
I  cannot  drive  her  image  from  me  now. 

XLIII. 

"  It  happened  so  that  I  had  rendered  her 
A  trifling  service,  and  her  gratitude 

Made  quite  a  hero  of  me,  as  it  were, 

And  made  me  think  that  I  should  not  intrude, 

By  calling  on  her;  that  I  should  confer 
A  favor  rather,  so  I  oft  renewed 

My  visits  for  a  little  while,  and  she, 

Apparently,  grew  rather  fond  of  me, 

XLIV. 

"  As  well  as  I  of  her ;  although  I  said, 

Not  half  as  much  as  I  have  said  to  you, 

In  fact  said  nothing  of  my  love,  instead 
Of  which,  I  simply  promised  to  be  true 

To  friendship,  as  we  called  it,  though  it  led 
To  something  more  on  my  part ;  but  in  view 

Of  what  I  meant  to  do,  I  tried  to  quell 

My  love,  and  so  I  lost  my  friend  as  well. 

XLV. 

"I'd  known  her  but  a  fortnight,  more  or  less  — 

Perhaps  three  weeks  —  before  I  left  the  place ; 
And  through  my  resolution  to  suppress 

My  strong  attachment  —  though  to  my  disgrace 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  211 

I  didn't  write  her  for  a  year,  I  guess, 

And  now  I  doubt  if  I  should  know  her  face  : 
And  when  I  did  write,  she  made  no  reply, 
But  I  have  never  known  the  reason  why." 

XLVI. 

"  And  you  propose,"  said  Nellie,  with  a  sigh, 
"  When  you  get  back,  to  look  her  up  again ;  " 
And  he  could  see  the  moisture  in  her  eye, 

And  thought  she  hadn't  looked  so  sweet  as  then ;  — 
"  And  then,"  said  she,  "  you  may  discover  why 

She  didn't  write  to  you  in  answer,  when 
You'd  written  her.     Well,  Heaven  bless  you,  Will, 
And  if  you  marry  her,  God  bless  you  still." 

XL  VII. 

He  pressed  her  hand  and  said,  "  'Twill  not  be  so, 
I  think ;  at  least  'tis  not  what  I  expect ; 

She  wasn't  quite  sixteen  —  eight  years  ago  — 
And  her  development  and  my  neglect, 

Have  left  small  room  for  such  a  love  to  grow, 
And  she  would  now  be  likely  to  reject 

My  suit,  and  yet  it  might  be  wrong  to  "  —  here 

He  stopped,  and  on  her  hand  there  fell  a  tear. 

XLVIII. 

O  love  of  woman  !  passion  hard  to  smother, 

In  any  age  or  section  of  the  globe ; 
O  woman  !  who,  as  sister,  wife  or  mother, 

Art  fitly  decked  with  angel's  crown  and  robe ; 
O  women  !  who  are  hateful  to  each  other, 

As  ever  Satan  was  to  righteous  Job ; 
Both  saint  and  sinner  worship  at  thy  shrine, 
And  deem  thou  art  half  human,  half  divine. 


XLIX. 

The  reader  may  object  that  'tisn't  fair, 
To  get  the  boy  in  love  with  everybody, 

And  may  insist  that  no  true  love  was  there, 
But  that  'twas  only  sentimental  shoddy  ; 

And  in  a  general  way  we  may  declare 

That  every  boy  that  falls  in  love's  a  noddy, 

Except  my  hero  when  he  chanced  to  fall  so, 

Of  course  excepting  my  young  readers  also. 

L. 

But  Will  had  never  loved  but  two  or  three, 
And  I  had  loved  as  many  most  sincerely, 

Before  I  ever  was  as  old  as  he, 

When  he  went  down  to  Lynn  ;  and  he  was  clearly 

In  love  with  two  at  once  in  some  degree ;  — 
I've  known  a  man  to  marry  almost  yearly, 

The  sorrows  and  the  ills  of  life  to  soften, 

And  sometimes  they  have  "  done  it  once  too  often :" 

LI. 

As  did  the  senior  Weller,  as  he  said 

To  Sammy,  when  he  cautioned  him  to  shun 
"  The  vidders,"  and  in  fact,  whoe'er  would  wed 
The  senior  Weller's  interesting  son. 

You  recollect  how  circumstances  led 
To  quite  a  boyish  fancy  for  the  one 

Will  learned  to  dance  with,  whom,  to  some  extent, 

He  early  loved,  but  who,  as  matters  went, 

LII. 

Refusing  first  a  young  collegiate, 

On  whom  her  heart  its  love  would  not  confer, 
Long  ere  'twas  time  that  he  should  choose  a  mate, 

Had  wed  a  worthy  youth  who  courted  her, 


213 

And  Will  surrendered  to  an  adverse  fate, 

In  that  particular,  if  such  it  were, 
But  never  lost  the  old  respect  he  had 
For  her,  a  lass,  when  he  was  but  a  lad. 

LIII. 

So  there  was  no  great  reason  to  regret 

The  termination  of  his  first  affair, 
Of  but  incipient  love,  but  when  he  met 

With  Nellie,  it  was  time  he  should  beware ; 
For  he  by  no  means  had  forgotten  yet, 

The  girl  at  Mrs.  Grant's,  and  couldn't  bear 
The  thought  of  what  he  otherwise  would  do, 
Until  he  knew  if  she  remembered  too. 

LIV. 

Nor  could  he  think  of  leaving  Nellie  so, 

To  go  in  search  of  one  he  hadn't  seen, 
Or  heard  from,  since  so  many  years  ago ; 

And  like  St.  Paul,  was  in  a  strait  between 
The  two  attractions  ;  for  he  didn't  know 

Which  way  to  turn  him,  or  which  way  to  lean, 
While  love's  divided  stream  was  coursing  through  him, 
When  Nellie  made  a  proposition  to  him. 

LV. 

"  I'm  sure,"  she  said,  "  that  I've  no  claim  on  you, 
Against  this  prior  one ;  you  first  shall  see 

If  she  the  old  attachment  would  renew ; 
And  if  so,  well ;  if  not,  come  back  to  me. 

And  yet  all  this  requires  a  short  adieu, 

My  long  lost,  dear  old  friend,  for  I  am  she." 

And  thus  revealing  what  she  long  had  kept, 

She  fondly  fell  upon  his  neck  and  wept. 


214 


LVI. 

The  language  of  a  tear !  in  grief  or  joy, 
'Tis  most  expressive  of  the  heart's  emotions ; 

Although  'tis  said  some  people  can  employ 

Their  tears  as  stock  in  trade ;  like  Yankee  notions ; 

And  some  good  honest  heart  thereby  decoy, 
By  false  pretenses,  into  true  devotions ; 

Yet  I  regard  it  in  its  native  fitness, 

In  almost  every  case,  an  honest  witness. 

LVII. 

But  those  of  Will  and  Nellie  soon  were  dry, 
And  they  were  living  over  "  auld  lang  syne," 

And  looking  forward  to  the  by  and  by, 

Around  which  all  our  hearts  their  hopes  entwine ; 

And  they  could  now  look  on  the  deep  blue  sky, 
And  "  calmly  watch  the  peaceful  day's  decline  ;  " 

And  when  it  had  declined,  they  too  descended, 

And  joyfully  their  homeward  way  they  wended. 

LVIII. 

They  reached  the  house  in  time  for  supper,  when 
She  quickly  ushered  in  her  old  gallant, 

And  said,  "  O  mother,  he's  the  same  as  then, 
O  Will,  don't  you  remember  Mrs.  Grant  ? 

If  not,  I'll  introduce  to  you  again, 

My  dearest  life-long  friend,  my  former  aunt, 

With  whom  I  lived  when  first  we  knew  each  other, 

And  she  soon  afterwards  became  my  mother." 

LIX. 

'Twill  be  remembered  that  the  gossippers, 

Who  intermeddle  so  in  our  affairs, 
Made  no  exception  in  regard  to  hers  ;  — 

They  often  have  us  married  unawares  : 


215 


It  is  a  favor  which  the  world  confers 

On  "  single  blessedness  ;  "  and  never  cares 
For  truth,  though  she,  as  they  had  not  belied  her, 
Had  subsequently  married  Julius  Ryder. 

LX. 

She  was  an  aunt,  though  not  by  consanguinity, 
To  Nellie,  and  'twas  on  her  mother's  side, 

Her  mother's  brother's  wife,  thus  by  affinity 
Related  to  them  only ;  so  she  tried 

This  new  relationship,  as  'twere  a  trinity 
Of  mother,  wife  and  aunt ;  and  none  denied 

That  she  had  filled  the  three  positions  well, 

And  all  the  joys  of  home  had  helped  to  swell. 

LXI. 

Step-mothers  oftentimes  are  humbugs  ;  so 
Are  second  husbands'  children  none  the  less , 

As  many  a  hapless  child  has  come  to  know, 
And  many  a  woman  who  had  sought  to  bless 

Some  motherless  young  brood.     The  embers  glow, 
On  altars  of  domestic  happiness, 

But  feebly  oft,  though  that  we  cannot  say, 

Of  Mrs.  Ryder  and  her  protegee. 

LXII. 

The  marriage  had  occurred  in  ^arly  spring, 
Succeeding  their  so  short  acquaintanceship 

With  Will ;  but  neither  told  him  anything 
Of  that,  perhaps  as  the  proverbial  slip, 

That  chance  and  adverse  circumstance  may  bring 
Between  the  cup  and  the  expectant  lip, 

Had  made  them  reticent  concerning  it, 

As  prudent  dames  have  often  deemed  most  fit. 


216  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

LXIII. 

And  when  the  marriage  rites  had  taken  place, 
They  had  no  tidings  from  the  truant  boy ; 

Nor  had  they  any  means  by  which  to  trace 
His  journeyings  ;  and  therefore  Helen's  joy 

Was  incomplete  :  her  father's  fond  embrace 
Conveyed  a  pleasure  not  without  alloy ;  — 

Nor  did  she  ever  get  the  letter  Will 

Had  written  her,  or  hear  from  him  until 

LXIV. 

They  introduced  her  to  him  in  the  hall 
At  Dr.  Hathaway's,  as  said  before ; 

And  she  had  then  abandoned  nearly  all 
Her  hopes  of  ever  hearing  from  him  more. 

His  looks  contained  but  little  she  could  call 
To  mind,  and  she  resolved  that  she'd  ignore 

The  old  acquaintance  now,  and  would  remain 

Incognito  to  him,  and  ascertain, 

LXV. 

If  possible,  the  reason  why  he  should 
Have  thus  deserted  her  in  former  days ; 

And  that  she  would  recover,  if  she  could, 
His  friendship  at  the  least,  in  other  ways 

Than  by  demanding  it ;  and  failing,  would 
Conceal  her  former  self  still  from  his  gaze. 

She  sought  new  love,  the  old  meanwhile  to  screen, 

With  what  result,  we've  now  already  seen. 

LXYI. 

They  named  her  Helen  Mabel,  at  her  birth, 
The  former  being  given  for  her  aunt ; 

But  when  her  mother  passed  away  from  earth^ 
Or  when  she  went  to  live  with  Mrs.  Grant, 


217 

The  latter  called  her  Mabel,  for  its  worth, 

But  more  for  its  convenience ;  to  supplant 
The  name  of  Helen,  as  it  was  her  own, 
Still  used  by  some  old  friends  she  long  had  known. 

LXVII. 

But  on  returning  to  her  native  place, 

Where  all  had  known  so  well  the  name  she  bore, 
That  being  as  familiar  as  her  face, 

It  then  was  Helen,  as  in  days  of  yore ; 
But  an  improvement  having  come  to  grace 

This  sweet  old  name,  some  little  time  before, 
They  called  her  NeUie  ;  to  distinguish  her 
From  this  new  mother,  as  I  now  infer. 

LXVIII. 

I  said  the  story  that  I  had  in  mind, 

Would  not  be  one  of  love ;  but  it  has  carried 

Much  more  of  that  than  I  at  first  designed ; 
Before  its  altar  I  too  long  have  tarried. 

And  now  the  reader  will  be  glad  to  find 

That  Will  and  Nellie  presently  were  married ; 

And  settled  down  to  the  domestic  bliss, 

That  comes  of  marriage  in  a  world  like  this. 

LXIX. 

Thus  many  a  wooing  has  turned  out  since  Eve's, 
'Tis  native  fruit  and  men  are  prone  to  pluck  it ; 

They  fall  in  love  as  fall  the  autumn  leaves ; 

They  seek  for  happiness,  and  think  they've  struck  it ; 

And  maidens  reason  as  did  Mrs.  Reeves, 

Whose  home  was  in  the  island  of  Nantucket ; 

Wherein  she  used  to  keep  an  old  museum 

Of  curiosities,  and  let  you  see  'em, 


218 


LXX. 

For  due  consideration.     She  was  bred 

A  Quakeress,  and  when  a  young  man  came 

To  ask  her  hand,  whose  soul  had  not  been  fed 
On  Quaker  diet,  she  was  held  to  blame, 

That  she  did  not  reject  him ;  but  she  said, 
To  those  opposing  her,  "  Pray  can  you  name 

Some  Quaker  youth  of  whom  I  may  be  sure, 

If  I  this  gentile  suitor  should  abjure  ?" 

LXXI. 

I  like  the  Quakers,  and  I  loved  the  fair, 
Though  aged  lady  of  that  island  town, 

Who  was  so  kind  to  me  when  I  was  there, 
And  who  in  queenly  fashion  wore  the  crown 

Of  noble  womanhood.     I  hardly  dare 
To  give  her  name,  lest  I  incur  the  frown 

Of  one  whose  memory  delights  me  now, 

As  when  I  listened  to  her  thee  and  thou. 

LXXII. 

I  called  upon  her  first  to  thus  renew 

The  old  acquaintance  of  a  teacher,  when 

My  own  accomplishments  were  very  few ; 
And  she  invited  me  to  call  again, 

Which  I  was  very  glad  to  do,  in  view 
Of  her  intelligence  concerning  men 

And  things,  whereof  she  talked  without  restraint, 

As  also  of  Nantucket,  old  and  quaint ; 

LXXIII. 

And  once  so  prosperous  —  in  days  of  yore  — 
When  every  ocean  recognized  her  sail, 

When  she  pursued  her  prey  the  wide  world  o'er, 
Subsisting,  as  did  Jonah,  on  the  whale. 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  219 

But  she,  like  him,  at  length  was  cast  ashore, 

When  gas  and  kerosene  began  to  pale 
Her  feeble  light,  and  so  restrict  her  gains, 
But  much  of  her  old  quaintness  still  remains. 

LXXIV. 

The  promenades  that  frequently  adorn 

The  roofs  of  houses  —  with  their  shingled  sides  — 
Wherefrom  old  residents,  at  night  or  morn, 

Could  see  what  ships  were  floating  on  the  tides : 
The  village  crier,  with  his  bell  and  horn, 

Still  stalks  about  the  streets  with  rapid  strides, 
Proclaiming  to  the  world,  with  much  ado, 
What  has  occurred  or  is  expected  to. 

LXXV. 

They  sell  their  meat  upon  the  auction  block, 
The  crier  heralding  their  beef  and  ham ;  — 
"  There'll  be  a  meat-ox,  half  past  ten  o'clock, 

At  Burgess'  market,  corned  beef,  mutton,  lamb, 

At  half  past  ten  o'clock,  meat-ox."     Their  stock, 
Their  local  history  says  —  to  which  I  am 

Indebted  for  the  record  of  a  case  — 

They  thus  dispose  of  in  the  market-place. 

LXXVI. 

Although  Nantucket  has  released  her  hold 
Upon  the  whale,  and  he  her  holds  deserted, 

She  has,  as  I,  when  I  was  there,  was  told, 
And  as  'twas  very  commonly  asserted, 

Like  Peter  and  the  fishermen  of  old, 

When  they  to  Christian  faith  had  been  converted, 

To  some  extent  at  least,  "  struck  oil "  again, 

Her  people  being  fishers  now  "  of  men." 


220  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 


LXXVII. 

That  is  to  say,  they've  learned  to  advertise 

The  island  as  a  "  favorite  resort," 
For  summer  tourists,  whom  I  may  advise 

That  'tis  a  pleasant  place  to  make  a  short 
Sojourn  upon  ;  nor  would  it  be  unwise, 

In  those  who  have  sufficient  leisure  for't, 
To  make  a  longer  stay ;  at  least  to  me, 
It  seemed  a  gem  in  the  surrounding  sea. 

LXXVIII. 

And  there  Will  planned  to  take  his  bridal  tour ; 

And  would  have  done  so,  as  I  chance  to  know, 
But  that  he  had  as  yet  been  kept  so  poor, 

'Twas  rather  inconvenient  then  to  go, 
To  any  distance,  though  I'm  pretty  sure 

They  took  a  sail  to  Hull  or  Hingham,  so 
As  not  to  altogether  lose  the  trip, 
That  should  begin  a  marriage  partnership. 

LXXIX. 

And  later  in  the  season,  he  returned, 
To  father,  mother  and  his  native  place  : 

The  tune  for  which  his  heart  so  long  had  yearned, 
At  length  had  come  to  him  by  Heaven's  grace. 

Through  all  the  years,  within  his  bosom  burned, 
A  love  of  home  that  time  could  not  efface, 

Until  he  had,  among  its  olden  charms, 

Been  fondly  folded  in  his  mother's  arms. 

LXXX. 

His  brother  George  was  married  —  settled  down, 
And  fairly  prosperous  upon  a  farm, 

Half  way  between  his  father's  and  the  town ; 
His  home  already  had  the  added  charm 


221 


Of  two  small  feet  beneath  a  baby  gown  ;  — - 

His  younger  sister  seemed  to  see  no  harm, 
Almost  while  she  was  still  embracing  him, 
In  asking  rather  fondly  after  Tim. 

LXXXI. 

They  welcomed  Nellie  in  a  kindly  way, 
Though  Mr.  Hay  den  had  been  prejudiced 

Against  her  slightly  ever  since  the  day 
Will  first  had  written  them  of  her,  the  gist 

Of  which,  through  preconceived  opinions,  lay 
In  that  she  was  an  educationist, 

As  he  adhered  to  his  old  notion  still, 

That  knowledge  necessarily  was  ill, 

LXXXII. 

For  common  people  ;  it  belonged  to  those 
Who  somehow  had  been  fortunately  born 

Thereto ;  and  this  young  lady,  when  she  chose 
To  marry  Will,  was  of  her  birthright  shorn, 

If  e'er  she  had  it.     He  could  not  suppose 
The  flimsy  vail  so  easy  to  be  torn, 

Between  plebeians  and  patricians,  who 

May  change  positions,  as  they  often  do. 

LXXXIII. 

And  Will,  as  rated  by  his  father,  seemed 
A  sort  of  "  upstart,"  who  had  left  the  sphere 

That  he  belonged  in ;  whose  success  he  deemed 
Almost  impossible  ;  and  it  was  clear 

That  if  his  merits  should  be  thus  esteemed, 
By  everybody,  that  would  interfere 

With  his  prosperity,  but  still  he  thought 

The  world  at  large  would  rate  him  as  it  ought. 


222 


LXXXIV. 


He  hesitated  some  concerning  whether 
'Twere  best  to  settle  in  his  native  town, 

Or  better  to  abandon  altogether, 

His  home  and  birthplace,  and  again  go  down 

And  settle  by  the  sea ;  but  stress  of  weather, 
Wherein  his  father  found  himself  —  a  frown 

Of  fickle  fortune  —  answered  for  him,  as 

Some  unforeseen  occurrence  often  has. 

LXXXY. 

Existence  any  way  is  perilous, 

And  Mr.  Hayden  found,  one  fateful  day, 

That  his,  just  then  especially,  was  thus, 

When,  turning  round,  his  horse  had  got  away ; 

A  dislocation  of  the  humerus, 

As  with  the  scapula,  that  is  to  say, 

A  dislocated  shoulder  being  what 

Resulted  from  it.     Will,  however,  thought 

LXXXVI. 

'Twould  not  be  difficult  to  then  reduce 

The  dislocation,  as  he  soon  suggested  ; 
But  here  his  father  interposed  a  truce, 

And  said  he'd  wait,  he  being  interested  ; 
Nor  did  he  deign  to  offer  an  excuse 

For  nonconsent  to  have  the  matter  tested ; 
But  simply  said,  "  You  go  and  get  a  doctor." 
O  Harvard !  Harvard !  how  it  would  have  shocked  her. 

LXXXVII. 

And  Will  was  rather  nonplussed,  I  suspect, 

At  such  an  order,  yet  did  not  demur ; 
Nor  did  he  his  allotted  task  neglect, 

But  went  and  got  the  mare  and  started  her 


223 

Directly  for  the  town.     He  little  recked 

What  pre-existing  notions  of  him  were, 
But  thinking  over  what  he  hoped  to  do, 
He  said,  "  I'll  show  him  I'm  a  doctor  too." 

LXXXVIII. 

He  overtook  at  length,  upon  the  road, 

Old  Dr.  Whitman,  whom  they  had  employed 

Aforetime ;  and  he  noticed  that  he  showed 
The  marks  of  age,  and  what  he  had  enjoyed, 

That  he  was  slowly  n earing  the  abode 
Where  happiness,  they  say,  is  unalloyed. 

He  did  his  errand  and  they  turned  about, 

And  both  went  back  to  help  the  father  out. 

LXXXIX. 

His  arm  was  swollen  more  than  at  the  first, 

More  difficult  to  set  in  consequence, 
Though  Dr.  Whitman  said  'twas  not  the  worst 

That  might  have  come  to  him.     "  A  little  hence," 
Continued  he,  "  if  this  young  man  is  versed 

In  such  affairs,  we  will  at  least  commence 
The  operation  ;  "  and  they  soon  succeeded, 
Will  rendering  assistance  when  'twas  needed. 

xc. 

Two  doctors  practised  at  the  village  then, 
One  being  old  and  rich  :  the  other  one 

Had  ridden  several  years,  some  eight  or  ten, 
And  it  was  evident  that  he'd  begun 

To  take  the  lead  from  Dr.  Whitman,  when 

The  latter  met  with  Will.     And  when  he'd  done 

For  Mr.  Hayden  what  he  could,  he  said 

To  Will,  while  sitting  by  his  father's  bed, 


224  AVILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

xci. 

"  Where  had  you  thought  of  hanging  out  your  shingle  ? 

I'm  half  inclined  to  want  to  keep  you  here  ; 
For  five  and  forty  years  I've  practised  single, 

But  I  grow  lazy  now  from  year  to  year ; 
I  never  fancied  very  much  the  jingle 

Of  doctors'  partnerships,  but  you  appear 
Quite  well  informed,  perhaps  you'd  like  to  try 
The  thing  a  while  together,  you  and  I. 

XCII. 

"  I'd  like  to  set  you  on  your  feet ;  besides, 
I'd  like  to  knock  my  rival  off  his  pins." 

A  sweet  benevolence,  which  thus  divides, 
In  generous  fashion,  with  the  common  sins 

Of  selfishness  and  envy.     Conscience  strides 
Into  the  saddle  when  the  race  begins, 

But  leaves  one  stirrup  empty  all  the  while, 

For  such  companionship  as  may  beguile 

XCIII. 

The  dull  monotony  of  virtue's  ways. 
"  The  apparatus  I've  already  got, 
Some  horses,  books,  a  practice  still  that  pays," 

He  said,  "  and  might  have  more  as  well  as  not, 
If  I  could  do  as  in  the  early  days 

I  did  do,  when  I  showed  them  what  was  what, 
As  you  can  now  if  you  will  do  the  work 
That  I  did  then,  which  now  I'd  like  to  shirk." 

xciv. 

The  conversation  then  grew  scientific, 
Or  rather  technical,  as  also  quizzical ; 

As  Dr.  Whitman  seemed  to  be  prolific 
Of  questions  appertaining  to  the  physical 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  225 

Of  man  ;  and  what  was  reckoned  a  specific, 

For  his  diseases,  dropsical  or  phthisical, 
Acute  or  chronic ;  much  of  which  was  said, 
To  ascertain  if  Will  were  fairly  read. 

xcv. 

While  they  conversed,  and  Mr.  Hayden  lay, 

A  silent  listener,  their  words,  somehow, 
Began  to  drive  the  cloud  of  mist  away, 

Through  which  he'd  looked  at  both  of  them  till  now ; 
Until  the  doctor  seemed  but  common  clay, 

And  Will  was  competent,  he  must  allow, 
To  talk  intelligently,  and  sustain 
His  own  position  in  fair  science'  fane. 

xcvi. 

And  then  the  glamour  of  distinction  seemed, 

To  Mr.  Hayden,  to  be  growing  less. 
Approaching  deities  are  less  esteemed 

Than  those  who  dwell  in  some  far  off  recess : 
The  ancient  gods  of  wood  and  stone  were  deemed. 

But  representatives  of  mightiness  — 
Of  gods  who  ruled  the  destinies  of  man, 
From  far  away,  as  Jupiter  or  Pan. 

XCVII. 

"  No  man's  a  hero  to  his  valet,"  so 

An  old  French  writer  said,  and  so  I  view  it. 

No  set  of  men  are  heroes  whom  we  know, 
No  calling  sacred  to  those  who  pursue  it. 

Its  halo  loses  largely  of  the  glow, 

With  which  it  was  surrounded  ere  they  knew  it, 

Except  by  vague  and  magnified  impressions, 

As  Mr.  Hayden  did  the  learned  professions. 


226 


XCVIII. 


When,  by  his  deeds  of  love  and  virtue  done, 

Had  Jesus,  long  ago,  made  such  a  stir, 
They  asked  each  other,  "  Isn't  this  the  son 

Of  Joseph  (whom  they  knew)  the  carpenter  ?  " 
"  Can  any  good  thing,"  grimly  queried  one, 
"  Come  out  of  Nazareth  ?  "  as  if  it  were 
Not  fit  that  any  mighty  things  should  be 
Accomplished  by  a  son  of  Galilee. 

xcix. 

Thus  Mr.  Hayden  had  regarded  Will, 

As  natively  inferior  to  those 
He  thought  were  born  to  higher  life,  until 

He  saw  them  face  to  face,  and  saw  him  pose 
So  well  with  one  who  used  to  have,  and  still 

Had  many  a  healing  balm  for  human  woes ; 
But  when  the  other  left  with  words  like  these, 
"  You'll  pay  the  junior  partner  if  you  please," 

c. 

He  would  have  trusted  him  to  even  set 
A  dislocated  shoulder,  though  'tis  wise, 

I  think  myself,  to  let  young  doctors  get 
Their  practice  slowly,  and  to  exercise 

Their  talents  under  supervision  yet 

A  little  while,  until  they've  learned  to  prize 

Experience,  as  well  as  education,  which 

It  is  her  province  largely  to  enrich. 

ci. 

Will  went  to  town  to  prearrange  details, 
The  Dr.  offered  him  some  rooms  up  stairs, 

And  partly  furnished,  from  the  fair  avails 
Of  his  prosperity.     Some  slight  repairs, 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  227 

Or  changes,  prompted  him  to  say,  "  What  ails 

It  now  for  keeping  house  ?  "  and  their  affairs 
Appeared  to  him  and  Nellie  both  to  be 
Quite  promising,  so  far  as  they  could  see. 

en. 

He  waited  patiently  and  patientless, 
Except  his  father,  for  a  week  or  two, 

And  that,  though  not  the  very  best  success, 
Was  not  the  worst  that  young  physicians  do ; 

A  hasty  call,  a  patient  in  distress, 

The  case  unlike  the  ones  presented  through 

The  books  and  lectures,  as  they  seemed  to  be, 

Has  puzzled  many  a  newly  fledged  M.  D. 

cm. 

But  by  and  by  his  senior  had  a  call, 

To  go  and  see  a  man  who,  gruff  and  grim, 

Lived  on  the  mountain  slope ;  whose  turbid  gall 
Had  made  him  feel,  that  day,  "  uncommon  slim." 

The  evening  shadows  had  begun  to  fall, 
And  so  the  Dr.  sent  Will  up  to  him. 

When  he  arrived,  he  found  the  man  in  bed, 

In  spite  of  which,  he  vigorously  said, 

civ. 

"  I  sent  for  Dr.  Whitman,  whom  I  knew, 
Before  you  ever  saw  the  light  of  day ; 

When  I  want  you  to  come,  I'll  send  for  you, 
And  that  is  all,  young  man,  I  have  to  say." 

And  Will  concluded  it  were  best,  in  view 
Of  what  he  had  said,  that  he  come  away ; 

But  Dr.  Whitman  laughed  and  said,  "  We'll  find 

Another  for  you  shortly,  never  mind." 


228  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

ev. 

And  sure  enough,  next  day,  when  he  was  gone, 
To  see  the  one  who  thus  rejected  Will, 

A  young  man  came  who  said  they  sent  him  on, 
To  get  a  doctor  for  some  children,  ill 

With  scarlatina  ;  and  he  went  anon, 

And  this  time  managed  so  to  fill  the  bill, 

As  to  commence  a  practice  which  increased 

As  fast  as  he  expected,  at  the  least. 


cvi. 

Nate  Alden's  wife  —  and 'we  will  not  go  back 
To  where  we  last  saw  Nate,  except  to  say 

That  he,  alas  !  pursued  the  downward  track, 
That  gaming  took  the  place  of  harmless  play, 

And  drink  came  also  in  its  wake,  to  sack 
The  moral  citadel,  and  take  away 

Still  more  of  virtue,  righteousness  and  truth, 

The  priceless  jewels  of  both  age  and  youth. 

cvn. 

His  wife,  whom  Will  had  slightly  known  of  yore, 
Came  early  to  him  to  implore  his  aid ; 

To  know  if,  through  his  Esculapian  lore, 
Some  new  discovery  had  not  been  made  — 

Or  if  some  remedy  were  known  before  — 

By  which  the  ghost  of  Bacchus  could  be  laid ; 

And  then  perchance  his  gambling  habit  might 

Be  broken  up,  and  he  be  set  aright. 

CVIII. 

Will  said  the  ailment  was  a  moral  one, 
Which  only  moral  remedies  would  touch ; 

And  in  the  present  case  so  long  had  run, 
That  even  they  might  not  accomplish  much  ; 


229 

But  if  the  treatment  were  to  be  begun, 

The  circumstances  of  the  case  were  such 
As  might  suggest,  he  thought,  as  being  fit, 
Some  method  like  the  following,  to  wit : 

cix. 

He  said,  "  If  I  were  you,  I'd  try  instanter, 
The  homoepathic  system,  which  is  this, 
4  SimUia,  similibus,  curanturj 

Or  '  like  cures  like,'  which  might  not  come  amiss : 

And  you,  perhaps,  could  be  the  wise  enchanter, 
To  conjure  up  the  metamorphosis, 

From  guilt  to  innocence,  without  the  loss 

Of  gold  or  crucible,  or  even  dross. 

i 
ex. 

"  That  is,  if  pleasure's  dross,  as  we  are  told, 

By  those  who  would  persuade  us  to  eschew  it, 

Although  the  contrary  is  true,  I  hold ;  — 
According  to  the  light  in  which  I  view  it, 

All  righteous  pleasureh  are  but  sands  of  gold, 
When  life  is  waning,  helping  to  renew  it ; 

But  Nathan  simply  carries  things  too  far, 

And  tries  to  get  more  pleasures  than  there  are. 

CXI. 

"  And  now,  if  anything,  I  would  propose 
That  you  yourself,  at  once  begin  to  play 

At  euchre,  high-low-jack,  and  games  like  those  ; 
And  thus  induce  him,  if  you  can,  to  stay 

Much  more  at  home.     The  places  where  he  goes, 
Are  bad ;  and  if  he  could  be  kept  away, 

His  vices  might,  perhaps,  be  overgrown, 

By  something  better,  heretofore  unknown." 


230  WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM. 

cxn. 

But  Mrs.  Alden  sadly  shook  her  head, 
As  if  it  were  a  point  she  couldn't  see  ; 

She  didn't  hold  to  playing  cards,  she  said, 
And  then  the  deacon  and  his  wife  would  be 

So  shocked,  and  deem  that  she  was  so  ill  bred  — 
They  lived  at  Deacon  Alden's,  Nate  and  she, 

And  so  were  hedged  about  by  virtues  such 

As  gain  so  little  while  they  seek  so  much. 

CXIII. 

When  Rev.  Mr.  Talmage  says,  "  I  hail 

The  rod  of  fisherman  and  sportsman's  gun  "  — 

Those  cruel  implements  —  why  should  he  quail 
Before  the  ace  of  spades,  or  turn  and  run, 

From  euchre  more  than  chess  ?   Why  should  he  fail 
To  recognize  the  little  boyish  fun 

That  comes  of  seven-up,  old  sledge  or  whist, 

And  put  them  on  his  recreation  list  ? 

cxiv. 

Nate  would  have  furnished  rather  poor  material, 
With  which  to  try  a  nice  experiment, 

And  such  experiments  must  needs  be  serial, 
To  show  if  they  would  be  beneficent: 

Will's  moral  castle  might  have  proved  aerial, 
Or  more  substantial  but  by  accident ; 

But  as  he  couldn't  try  his  method  so, 

We  cannot  say  if  it  were  wise  or  no. 

cxv. 

Will  thence  proceeded  on  his  peaceful  way, 

And  helped  his  fellows  when  and  where  he  could, 

And  helped  himself,  it  is  but  fair  to  say, 
As  others  do,  and  as  perhaps  they  should ; 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  231 

We  all  to  some  extent  are  beasts  of  prey, 

And  he  was  but  comparatively  good, 
And  as  the  story  is  so  nearly  through, 
We'll  only  follow  him  a  year  or  two. 

cxvi. 

The  lamps  were  lighted  in  the  quiet  town, 
Where  he  and  Nellie  lived ;  and  Nellie  rose 

From  where. she  sat,  and  laid  the  baby  down, 
He  having  now  forgotten  all  his  woes, 

When  Dr.  Whitman's  wife,  whose  locks  of  brown 
Were  being  whitened  by  the  falling  snows 

Of  age,  came  up  the  stairs  to  ask  if  she 

Would  meet  the  ladies  of  the  church,  to  see 

cxvn. 

About  the  coming  yearly  festival, 

And  make  arrangements  for  it,  such  as  would 
Be  best  adapted  to  the  annual 

Associations  of  the  brotherhood, 
In  social  gathering ;  the  prodigal 

To  be  invited  with  the  "  unco  good," 
And  asked  to  spend  his  substance  there  in  giving, 
If  not  in  riotous  and  rapid  living. 

CXVIII. 

The  meeting  was  at  Mrs.  Whitman's,  so 
'Twould  not  be  very  inconvenient  then, 

For  Nellie,  while  the  baby  slept,  to  go  ; 
And  Will  would  probably  be  back  again, 

From  visiting  some  village  patients  ;  though 
He  didn't  come  till  rather  late,  and  when 

He  did,  they  asked  him  to  the  council  too, 

To  hear  of  what  they  had  designed  to  do. 


232 


CXIX. 


And  say  if  their  designs  should  yet  be  changed, 
For  they  had  got  them  pretty  well  laid  out, 

Though  one  or  two  were  partially  estranged 
From  what  was  general,  and  were  in  doubt 

As  to  the  wisdom  of  the  plans  arranged, 

Which  they  were  still  in  some  debate  about ; 

Although  the  great  majority  were  still 

In  favor  of  them,  when  they  called  on  Will. 

cxx. 

The  proposition  was  to  introduce 

Some  lottery  schemes,  by  which  to  sell  some  things 
They'd  bought  and  made,  for  ornament  or  use, 

At  higher  prices  than  the  market  brings  ; 
For  which  they  merely  offered  the  excuse, 

That  'twas  for  righteousness,  which  often  flings 
Its  mantle  over  doubtful  methods,  such 
As  common  sinners  cannot  safely  touch. 

CXXI. 

They'd  had  the  same  thing  once  or  twice  before  — 
Substantially  the  same  —  and  liked  it  well ; 

At  least  they  liked  the  golden  fruit  it  bore, 
It  having  helped  materially  to  swell 

The  gross  amount  of  what  they  had  in  store  ;  — 
'Twas  a  commodity  that  seemed  to  sell : 

Hence  they  proposed  on  this  occasion,  when 

The  time  should  come,  to  offer  it  again. 

cxxn. 

What  says  the  Dr.  ?  "  asked  a  lady  who 

Had  engineered  it  largely,  whereupon 
Will  rose  and  said,  "  'Tis  not  my  province  to 

Attempt  to  dictate,  either  pro  or  con  ; 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  233 

But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  tried  to  do, 

An  hour  ago  or  so,  while  I  was  gone, 
As  yet  apparently  without  success, 
But  I  consistently  could  do  no  less. 

CXXIII. 

"  I  had  a  patient  at  the  tavern,  whom 

I  went  to  see  a  little  after  dark, 
And  in  the  hall,  when  coming  from  his  room, 

I  met  three  fellows  who  were  on  a  lark. 
The  light  was  rather  dim,  but  in  the  gloom, 

I  saw  their  faces,  and  I  knew  Bert  Clark, 
And  Nathan  Alden,  Deacon  Alden's  son, 
But  didn't  recollect  the  other  one. 

cxxiv. 

" '  Say  Doc,'  ejaculated  Nate,  '  come  in, 

Along  with  us  ;  perhaps  you'd  like  to  play 

A  game  of  poker  —  either  lose  or  win, 

And  I've  done  more  or  less  of  both  to-day.' 

And  as  they  were  about  to  re-begin, 

I  went  into  the  room  where  he  and  they 

Were  playing  *  penny  poker  ; '  or  at  least 

They  had  been,  but  at  supper  time  had  ceased. 

cxxv. 

"  They  all  sat  down,  and  left  a  place  for  me, 

Requesting  me  to  take  it.  '  No,'  said  I, 
' 1  incidentally  dropped  in  to  see 

What  you  were  doing,  and  to  also  try 
To  get  you  all  to  promise  and  agree 

To  neither  drink  nor  gamble.'  Nate's  reply 
Was  singularly  pertinent,  I  thought, 
To  one  of  the  proposals  I  had  brought. 


CXXVI. 

;<  <  No  doubt,'  he  said,  <  it  is  a  pleasant  thing 
To  be  so  virtuous  and  good  and  true  ; ' 

Then  holding  up  his  hand  so  as  to  bring 
His  little  linger  into  plainer  view, 

Continued,  '  do  you  know  I  got  that  ring, 
By  gambling  for  it  in  the  church  that  you 

Belong  to  now,  of  which  my  father  was 

The  senior  deacon  ?     Better  have  a  clause 

cxxvu. 

Inserted  in  the  creed  or  government, 

That  shall  prevent  the  wicked  practice  there  ; 

And  then  its  emissaries  may  be  sent 

To  places  where  they  gamble  fair  and  square, 

With  some  consistency.'     Bert  said,  *  I  spent 
What  money  at  the  church  I  had  to  spare, 

But  I  had  nothing  for  it  when  I'd  done. 

The  chances  here  are  better,  two  to  one.' 

CXXVIII. 

"  I  made  reply  by  saying  what  I  could, 
And  say  it  honestly,  in  such  a  case, 

But  that  was  little,  and  that  Nathan  should 

Have  made  his  statement  with  so  good  a  grace, 

And  that  I  knew  that  he  could  make  it  good, 
And  at  his  pleasure  throw  it  in  my  face, 

I  much  regretted ;  and  I  could  but  see, 

That  he  in  some  sense  had  the  best  of  me. 

cxxix. 

"  And  now  you  may,  perhaps,  anticipate, 

What,  speaking  further,  I  would  further  say ; 
But  I  intended  simply  to  relate 

What  came  to  me  in  this  peculiar  way; 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  235 

And  you  the  lesson  may  appropriate, 

Or  may  reject  its  teaching,  yea  or  nay : 
'Tis  not  my  province,  as  I  said  before, 
To  dictate  to  you,  and  I'll  say  no  more." 

cxxx. 

This  tale  is  one  of  fiction  ;  or  in  part 

Fictitious,  though  with  much  of  truth  combined  ; 
But  true,  according  to  the  mystic  art 

Of  story  telling  —  or  at  least  designed 
To  be  so  —  to  the  facts  of  history's  chart ; 

Or  true  to  nature,  as  in  humankind 
Developed  ;  but  I'm  not  prepared  to  show 
If  their  designs  were  carried  out  or  no. 

cxxxi. 

I've  preached  that  way  myself  from  year  to  year, 
And  now  church  lotteries  are  less  in  fashion  ; 

But  whether  from  the  preaching,  isn't  clear, 
Or  whether  from  subsidence  of  the  passion  ; 

The  clearing  of  the  moral  atmosphere, 
The  enterprising  and  devout  Caucasian 

Has  been  surrounded  by ;  the  world's  advance 

In  knowledge,  which  all  virtues  should  enhance. 

cxxxn. 

"  Kind  nature  gives  our  blood  a  moral  flow," 

Somebody  says,  from  whom  my  memory  quotes, 

Arid  this  of  churches,  as  of  men,  is  so, 

Although  their  eyes  contain  some  moral  motes, 

Which  seems  to  make  their  progress  rather  slow, 
Though  just  as  sure  —  from  all  prophetic  notes  — 

As  e'er  my  hero's  was,  when  nature  gave  him, 

Of  moral  leanings,  just  enough  to  save  him. 


236 


CXXXIII. 

And  if  she's  done  as  much  for  you  and  me, 
And  given  us  the  aspirations  high, 

That  tend  to  make  us  what  we  ought  to  be, 
And  lead  us  gently  to  the  by  and  by 

Of  truth  and  righteousness  —  for  all  so  free- 
We  should  be  thankful  for  it,  you  and  I, 

And  ever  pray  that  we  may  thus  be  led, 

Till  all  our  sins  are  crucified  and  dead. 


cxxxiv. 

My  story's  told.     It  was  designed  to  show 

What  may  be  done  by  culture  and  progression. 

I  took  an  ordinary  boy,  you  know, 

And  one  who,  at  the  time,  was  in  possession 

Of  ordinary  faculties ;  which  grow 

By  normal  use ;  and  in  the  learned  profession, 

Which  he  had  chosen  for  a  livelihood, 

He  sought  his  own  and  others'  highest  good. 

cxxxv. 

And  in  the  same  direction  both  must  lie  — 

No  man  may  wrong  his  fellows  with  impunity, 

And  whoso  would  be  blest  himself,  must  try 
To  bless  mankind,  as  he  has  opportunity ; 

And  much  of  happiness  will  come  thereby ; 
Because  men's  interests  are  more  in  unity, 

Than  in  the  selfish  past  they  e'er  have  seemed ; 

Than  kings  and  conquerors  have  ever  dreamed. 

cxxxvi. 

Life  is  at  best  a  game,  and  he  who  plays 
By  nature's  honest  rules,  is  sure  to  win ; 

Although  at  times,  in  this  world's  crooked  ways, 
His  tricks  are  taken  by  the  trumps  of  sin : 


WILLOUGHBY'S  WISDOM.  237 

But  he  a  broad  and  deep  foundation  lays, 

And  when  at  length  the  cards  are  gathered  in  — r 
When  all  dissimulation  shall  have  ceased  — 
He'll  surely  have  the  odd  one  at  the  least. 

CXXXVII. 

The  sweets  of  life  should  sparingly  be  tasted, 

Or  haply  left  untasted  as  we  pass. 
With  selfish  pleasures  life  is  often  wasted, 

And  we  are  left  to  cry,  alas !  alas ! 
And  nature  has  her  placards  duly  pasted 

On  post  and  fence  and  tree,  "  Keep  off  the  grass," 
As  city  fathers  do  on  boulevards ;  — 
And  none  may  safely  scale  the  moral  bars. 

CXXXVIII. 

The  good  alone  are  happy.     Even  they 

Are  so  entangled  in  the  sin  and  woe 
Of  those  behind  them  in  the  upward  way, 

That  unmixed  happiness  they  seldom  know. 
And  yet  that  vice  was  never  made  to  "  pay," 

As  virtue  does,  the  facts  of  life  will  show, 
Should  they  be  traced  sufficiently  to  see 
What  their  legitimate  results  may  be. 

cxxxix. 

The  moral  world,  so  little  understood, 

Is  one  of  justice  and  of  recompense, 
Wherein  alone  the  evil  and  the  good 

Are  both  determined  by  the  inner  sense 
Of  well  developed  man  and  womanhood 

Of  noble  aspirations,  gleaning  thence 
Some  slight  capacity  to  rightly  read 
The  higher  law  and  the  diviner  creed. 


238 


CXL. 

To  build  a  character,  and  do  it  well, 

Should  be  the  aim  of  life ;  and  yet  how  few, 

In  moral  architecture  so  excel, 

As  even  Willoughby ;  who  might  review 

His  life  with  some  regrets,  for  what  befell 
Therein  of  wrong  and  error,  which  may  you, 

My  reader,  shun,  at  least  in  some  degree, 

Acquiring  more  of  wisdom  than  did  he. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

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